


Come Home

by ferryberry



Category: Glee
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, F/F, POV Third Person Limited, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferryberry/pseuds/ferryberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/Canon thru S3E14. BtVS!verse. Three years after Quinn's death in a car crash, Rachel wishes to have her back - and this time, it seems to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Glee writers and creators.  
> Follows the canon of the TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, seasons 1-7. Ignores the movie, Angel the series, and the comics because I haven't seen/read those. One website used is real: mythicalcreatureslist.com. Two BtVS characters are scheduled to appear later on, provided I don't change my mind, but no heavy crossover.

**Prologue**

It had been three years, almost to the day, since Quinn's accident. Rather, since her death, though Rachel preferred not to think of it that way, just like she preferred not to think of Finn's death date, either. Or their funerals. It was still too overwhelming that way. So while the anniversary of Quinn's accident approached yet again, Rachel thought of it just that way - as an accident - and tried to be grateful for the time she'd had with Quinn, like she did every year. To think of how hateful Quinn had been in the beginning and how Rachel had worn her down to tolerance and then to grudging respect and then to the best part: friendship.

Granted, Rachel had only gotten a few weeks of friendship from Quinn, but it was enough to know that had she made it through that accident, it would've lasted a lifetime. As it was, the bits and pieces they shared shone brightly to Rachel's mind's eye, and she cherished every bit of them. She'd spent time remembering and memorizing the way Quinn had hugged her, with both arms wrapping all the way around her back, and the way she smelled, like baked apple pie made with love and a hint of cinnamon. And her smile, the way it took over her whole face, even her eyes, her bright hazel eyes and how they danced even in the crude fluorescent lighting of the high school.

It was perhaps not so healthy for Rachel to cling so hard to those memories, for her gut to tangle in knots every time this time of year approached. Or for her to stare at the shade of Sam's blond hair and try to remember if Quinn's was the same each time he turned about to grab another picture or star or pamphlet or poster off her wall. Perhaps it was part of what was making it so difficult to watch him do this, to start moving on from Lima, Ohio for good - clinging to Quinn.

Rachel would have blamed it on Finn, clinging to him, but truthfully speaking, she hadn't. It had been hard, of course; painful beyond belief. But then, with time, it got better. Easier, to breathe, to live without the hope of getting back together with him, without constant thoughts of him. But her pain over Quinn remained. At first, Rachel blamed it on guilt. She had none over Finn, outside of the fact that she hadn't been with him, but over Quinn, she had plenty. It had nearly crushed her, and it was only due to Santana, of all people, that it hadn't.

But then Rachel came to realize that when a man looked at her a certain way, the flutter of anxiety didn't come from Finn, because the person she thought of on those occasions wasn't him. It was Quinn's smile that flickered in her eye. And even now, with sweet Sam, Rachel was caught in a web of thoughts about her. Of course, this time it had been Sam's fault. This whole taking down the wall, moving on from Lima thing, it had spurred her to wondering - if she was moving on from Lima, did that mean she had to move on from Quinn, too?

Technically, she already was. Being with Sam, kissing him, it was moving on in the conventional sense, wasn't it? And what he and the others said was true. She knew because it was what Quinn had told her a long time ago. Rachel didn't belong in Lima. But she didn't really want to let go if it meant letting Quinn go, and she really didn't think that it was necessary to take down all of her pictures, all of her precious gems. She wouldn't even have agreed to it if it hadn't been for the fact that Quinn wanted her to go on to New York and she never would if she didn't get started somehow and taking down the pictures was symbolic - a metaphor. And metaphors were important.

Still - "Not that one!"

Rachel was a moment too late. Sam had the picture in his hand, but he stopped to stare at her rather than drop it into the box with the others. She was quick to take it from him, to save it from that fate. Not that she was throwing away all those pictures - they would be neatly organized into a photo album, of course - but she would not have Quinn thrown into hiding. Sam's hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.

"Right," was all he said. Quietly.

Rachel pressed the photo to her chest. "It's just that… I don't…" She puffed for breath - for words.

His warm hand cupped her cheek, and she found him smiling sympathetically. "You don't have to explain. I miss her, too."

She breathed in relief, lowering the picture a fraction or two while she leaned into his callused fingers and stared at Quinn's enigmatic smirk. "You know, she would've completely approved of all this."

"All what?" Sam was curling her hair behind her ear; she shivered as it whispered across her neck.

"Taking down the pictures, moving on with my life, getting back to New York and Broadway," she breathed, letting her fingertips brush over a glossy cheek before she stepped away and dropped it to her nightstand to take care of later. "She told me at least a hundred times I belonged there and that Finn would only hold me down. Of course, I never listened to her really. Just thought she wanted Finn back…"

Sam snuffed behind her. "I hope she wouldn't think I'm doing the same thing. I mean, holding you down."

"Of course not." Rachel turned from Quinn to pull up a smile at him. "You're pushing me forward; she would...approve wholeheartedly."

He looked skeptical. "And that upsets you?"

"It doesn't…"

"Then why do you sound like you just sucked on a lemon?" He chuckled, shuffling toward her.

"I'm sorry, I just…" She bit on her bottom lip and smoothed the seat of her skirt before she sat on the edge of her buoyant mattress. "I think about her a lot this time of year."

He plopped down, smiling at the bounce of the bed, and rubbed down his pant legs. "Makes sense. Blaine told me you, uh, went and set flowers that first year and that last year, you watched all her performances we got recorded?"

Rachel only nodded. She hadn't been able to come down to Lima again last year as she'd wanted to, to set a fresh bouquet of gardenias at Quinn's gravestone. But she'd had to commemorate the day somehow. So she'd plopped on her couch and put in the DVDs of all their performances and watched Quinn dance and sing and smile, and eventually Kurt joined her, bearing a box of tissues and a pint of vegan safe ice cream. He hadn't exactly liked Quinn in life, or ended things well with her, but for that, he had a kindred feeling of guilt with Rachel. So rather than mock or roll his eyes, he'd only quietly sat with her while she sobbed into some truly horrible ice cream.

"Did you want to do that again? I mean, next week, that day we can take off from helping out the new kids and go down to the flower shop and then spend the rest of it watching again…"

He peered at her expectantly, eyebrows lifted in concern. So sweet. Rachel smiled a little, petting his cheek with her thumb, brushing across faint stubble.

"You're the sweetest guy I've ever known, do you know that?"

Sam smiled instantly. She gnawed on her lip.

"But I...I think I want to do it alone. It's no offense! Or anything. I just...it might be one of the last times I get to be in Lima on the day and I…"

His hand found her knee and squeezed, the smile gone, replaced by that concern. "It's okay, I understand. But. Rachel, I...I mean that day can't, like, rule your life forever, can it?"

Rachel's hand dropped to her lap. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "I mean… We all miss Quinn. _And_ Finn. But we don't let those dates come up on us and wreck us. I mean, you don't...even do that for Finn…"

She clasped her hands together, suddenly not feeling like looking at him. She focused her gaze instead on Quinn, on her nightstand. "So I can't mourn in my own way now? I'm already - "

"No, Rach, that's not it. I just don't want you to be sad." His hand covered both of hers. "I know you feel partly responsible for - "

"Not partly responsible, I _am_ responsible." Rachel huffed, pushing his hand away, back to his own lap. "I texted her, while she was driving, I _pestered_ her until she answered and then she did and then she - " She swallowed, sighed. "You have no idea how it feels, Sam. Knowing that you're the reason, the reason the person…"

Sam's arm cautiously settled its weight on her shoulders, and she leaned into his warmth, grimacing at herself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

Rachel peered up at his face, his pouting, broad lips and his big eyes. He smelled like cologne and deodorant. His callused thumb pushed away the wetness on her cheeks, and she closed her eyes so she could see pearly white teeth and dancing hazel eyes. "If I could just see her...and tell her how sorry I am and how…" She choked. "Even if it was only for a minute, I… Just for one minute."

She pried her eyes open to look at him again, and Sam gently kissed her. Just for one minute.

#

It was pitch black. No light at all, from anywhere, but she could feel the boundaries pressing in on her. She could feel something hard against her feet when she pointed her toes, and when she tried to lift her knees up, they thudded dully against a cloth ceiling, but it was hard underneath. She felt around her with her hands. Cloth and hardness underneath her, cloth and hardness on either side of her, cloth and hardness over her head, and cloth and hardness above her. She was trapped. Completely boxed in.

Her breathing picked up and she pushed, strained at the ceiling with her knees and her hands, but there was no give, no lifting, it was solid and she couldn't get free. She punched. Hard, hard, harder until there were bruising shockwaves running down her bones with every slam in all that limited space, and finally there was a crack, a splinter. She punched again and again and again until it fell through and then something came pouring in on her, cramming the opening. She shoved her fist through, cracking more and until that something was suffocating her, and she stopped breathing, closed her eyes and her mouth as it clogged her nostrils, her ears.

But she kept pushing, kept digging and clawing upward through slime and dirt that clung to her, tried to keep dragging her down, losing something off her feet along the way, but she was getting free. She was pushing dirt down into the box she'd been in and climbing on top of it, digging and piling and climbing, and it felt interminable, like she was going to be stuck forever, but the more stuck she felt, the harder she fought to be free, because she was not going to go back into the box and she was not going to stay in this dirt, in this earth.

And finally, she felt something. Or rather, nothing. Above her right fist, there was nothing. No more dirt. She fought further, even more frantic, and then there was light offered to her blurry eyes, air to her begging lungs and she spat the dirt from her mouth and breathed, gasped deep lungfuls of air, and dragged her legs out from the hole, until her whole body was on slimy wet greenness, but it was so much better than the dirt she just laid there and breathed, curing some of her pain, curing her hysteria. She was in air, no more box, no more closed in box in the dirt and the earth. She could move.

Realizing this, she pushed herself up, curling her fingers into the greenness, the grass, and dragging until she was on her knees, and then wobbling on her legs, looking around the mass of grass and stones sticking up out of the earth - and there was the hole she'd climbed out of. There was a stone at the head of it, too. It had writing on it. She squinted several times, tilting her head until the light caught it just right, and she read:

'Lucy Quinn Fabray

1994-2012

Beloved Daughter

Devoted Mother'


	2. I

**I**

She wasn't clear on what was going on. But she did know the name. The name was hers. She was Lucy Quinn Fabray. Lucy Quinn Fabray was she. And they called her Quinn. And stones sticking up out of the dewy grass only read people's names and the years they lived and things that probably weren't quite true but were very kind to say when someone was dead. She, Quinn, was...dead?

She didn't remember dying. But she didn't remember anything, really, not at the moment. It was all fuzzy, just like her vision, and reading those few words had taken their toll. She closed her eyes - but it was too dark. She preferred the sting of trying to see to the pitch black. To not seeing at all. It was just one more pang to add to many, anyway.

She pained all over. That was all she could remember, too, when she tried for a moment. Pain. In her legs and her body and her arms and her neck and her head. Down to the bones, the very joints of her knees, to the sinews in her arms all the way up to her shoulders and into the neck and collarbone. Her fingers and hands were mercifully numb beyond feeling. But her head throbbed. Must've been what it felt like to be dead, she supposed.

The longer she stared at her own headstone, the more her stomach rankled and curled in on itself. She didn't want to retch on her own grave - so she looked away, around herself. The stones made sense now. The cemetery. She knew the cemetery, she'd been there before. But she couldn't remember - where was it, exactly? And even if she found the way out, where would she go?

She didn't know, except she wanted to leave. Her muscles complained when she started toward the path, the strip of pavement among the grass. Following that should take her somewhere, she supposed.

It was a calm night. Still. Nothing moved except for her and the occasional breeze that swept through the trees and over her skin. Dirty skin, she noticed, when her feet touched the pavement and they were almost as black. The dress she wore was browned, yellowed in spots. She suspected it had once been brilliantly white. She remembered it was brilliantly white, actually. And they had buried her in it.

Not that she recalled who 'they' was at the moment. Not specifically. Just a vague idea of the world, of people who seemed to be absent from this night. There was a gate up ahead. Nothing ornate, not too high to climb. Just a few simple bars padlocked to the rest of the spiked fencing, blocking the way onto more pavement. And beyond that, tall, dark buildings. Houses. She had a house. It wasn't any of these, but she had one.

She took hold of the top bar of the fence and swung her legs over, one at a time, landing with a dull thud on her feet. Her heels stung and her arms ached in complaint, and she gave them a moment to recover while she tried to decide where she should go next. The pavement stretched out along the fence on both sides, left and right. Her mind reeled, begging for orientation, and she just stood there holding onto the gate for dear life until something silver whizzed past her - roared past her, blinding her with too much light, concentrated light, and she ran.

#

"We should probably get back down to the party; our number's coming up," Rachel snuffed, drawing herself away from the comfort of Sam's arms to stand and sweep down the bottom of her dress again.

The empty wall ahead had proved to be rather nerve wracking, just being there, blank and yellow. She had never seen it so bare before, always filling her walls with color and memories and things that would make her smile when she came home from school on the verge of tears. Or when she came home from New York with dreams of rebuilding the glee club, giving other special kids a place to come together and be themselves. To find similarity between their differences and make friends out of enemies.

She felt Sam stand behind her. "Right." He paused, and Rachel fingered the photo on her nightstand. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay? I really didn't mean to get you down. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Rachel turned to smile at him. "You didn't bring it up, remember? The picture did. Besides, I'll be fine." His mouth twisted skeptically, and she gripped his shoulders. " _Really_ , I will. Quinn...she's gone. I've accepted that. It's just that I'm always going to be sad that she is."

He seemed to accept that answer better, nodding as he rubbed her arms, and so she didn't say the rest. That she would always be sad that Quinn never got to live a full life, with more babies and a beautiful romance and marriage to go with them, with Yale where she'd graduate at the top of her class, with a brilliant career where she'd receive accolades to even make Meryl Streep envious. That she'd always feel guilty that she was the one who took all that away from Quinn. That she'd always miss her.

Perhaps the idea that Rachel would be fine was just a lie she told herself, and had just told Sam, considering all that. But she couldn't exactly tell the truth, either, could she?

"Well, if you're sure you'll be okay, we can head down then."

Rachel pasted on her big Broadway smile and nodded. "Positive. Let's go."

Sam kissed her one more time before he took her hand in his and led her down the stairs back to the party, where Kitty and Artie were just finishing their duet for the evening. Kitty even kissed his cheek while the rest of them applauded and then rolled him off to the side, wearing that snooty smirk of hers. Rachel couldn't help but smile a little, watching her while Sam guided her up front. She wasn't Quinn by any means, but she certainly did try, succeeding just enough so that it was a comfort to Rachel to know that there was a steady blonde head cheerleader in the glee club again, for when she left.

Kurt brought a drink to Rachel almost as soon as her duet with Sam finished; he always seemed to sense it now when she was in need of a glass of water. Perhaps it was a side effect of living together, or all the years they'd known each other now, or both. Either way, she was grateful for it, and she sat leaning her head against his shoulder while they watched the next performance, cupping the glass between both palms and letting her eyes wander again to Kitty.

Rachel didn't mean to stare, really. In fact, she didn't even find Kitty particularly attractive - pretty, but not in that way, anyway. But moments like these, when she'd been thinking of Quinn, she couldn't quite help herself, even if Kitty had made more than one lesbian comment - enough comments to make her blush and look aside when Kitty caught her. By the time she allowed herself to peek back, Kitty was only smirking to herself and it was easier for Rachel to look away, because Kitty had never quite gotten how to smirk like Quinn. Not that she looked anything like Quinn, or that Rachel even stared because of her face. No, it was her aura, her status, and the bob of a blonde ponytail that brought her attention. But when Kitty looked like that, like a snotty entitled teenager instead of an enigmatic, charming queen - that's when Rachel found it hardest to see Quinn sitting there, and she could look away.

Still, Rachel kept her distance from Kitty throughout the rest of the party, hoping to avoid another 'if you're looking to go lezzie' suggestion. So far it had been catching Brittany and Santana before they were legally married, taking advantage of her 'doppelganger' - Rachel could only assume she meant Marley, and 'you missed the boat,' which Rachel altogether preferred not to think about.

As the party wound down, however, it was harder and harder to avoid the little brat, particularly when she was one of the only ones hanging about. Texting on her phone and occasionally placing a call, but still hanging about in Rachel's basement as if it were a hotel lobby. Sam, Kurt, and Blaine lingered as well, but after things were cleaned up, the latter two headed home, exchanging kisses on the cheek with her before they left Rachel alone with Sam and Kitty. Who huffed as she hung up her phone this time.

Sam smiled wryly to Rachel. "What's wrong, Kitty?"

"My stupid dad's not coming to pick me up."

"You didn't drive yourself?"

Kitty scowled - which looked marginally more like Quinn. "Does it sound like it?"

"It's okay," Rachel cut in. "I'll take you home."

Kitty stood instantly to gather her things, but Sam shook his head. "No, I'll take her, you stay. Get some rest."

"She lives on the opposite side of town from you; it doesn't make sense for you to take her."

His head cocked adorably. "How do you know where she lives?"

Rachel gnawed briefly on her bottom lip. "I've only heard her say the street name… It's the same area as Quinn's house."

"Oh." He paused a moment before squeezing her shoulder - only for a moment, though, because Kitty abruptly broke between them and started up the stairs to the front door.

"Are we going then?"

Rachel smiled briefly up at Sam, accepting his kiss before the two of them trailed Kitty outside. Rachel locked up the house securely - her father was out - before she unlocked the car for a bouncing Kitty and slid in, waving back to Sam when he honked and drove off. It was only then, of course, that Rachel realized she had put herself in the very position she'd been avoiding the entire evening, being alone with Kitty for more mockery. But Kitty didn't say anything, just sat and looked ahead at the road and the changing lights. Until about the fifth time Rachel glanced at her.

"You must really miss her tonight."

Rachel went owl-eyed, but Kitty still wasn't looking at her. "What?"

"Quinn," Kitty supplied. "That's why you stare, isn't it? Because otherwise, I'm going to have to go back to my standard answer, and in that case, I think one of the senior Cheerios is bi."

Rachel flushed and forced her gaze back to the road. She could feel Kitty smirking, and after a moment, flipped on the radio. That was enough talking.

#

By the time Quinn stopped running, she didn't know where she was anymore. Not that she had known before, but 'at the cemetery' was better than 'nowhere.' There were so many houses and so many things. She had come to a place where there was nothing but blinding lights, lights that flashed and changed colors and pierced her corneas, blurred her vision so that she was running completely without direction. She crashed into things. Things that moved, things that didn't. Things that screamed at her, screamed, "HEY!" or just blared at her. Long and loud.

That came, she realized eventually, from the whizzing, roaring things. Cars. And they sent such a streak of fear through her she stopped breathing again each time she came upon one. Sweat poured from her pores and her muscles refused to cooperate, to stop quivering, and all she could do was keep running and running and running until she came to a quieter place. A place that didn't make her brain throb in her skull with all its loud noises and brightness. It was a quiet neighborhood here, where she walked down more pavement. The cars were stopped, next to the sidewalk or the houses, and there were no lights except from the moon above, like in the cemetery.

But soon she almost missed the loudness, the frenzy and the chaos - almost - because now she could feel the searing pain through every bone, every muscle in her body. But she couldn't stop walking, couldn't rest. She felt compelled to keep moving, to find...something. What, she didn't know, but she couldn't stop until she found it.

And eventually, walking down silent street after silent street - occasionally breaking into another brief run when something barked or chains jangled at her in the dark - she realized she knew where she was. The houses were familiar. Fancy, taller and wider than all the others, surrounded by gates and fences and hedges. This was her neighborhood. And she had to get home. Home.

She jogged, ignoring her feet, her knees, her muscles begging her to stop, until she found the house. Her house. Her fence. Her gate. Her driveway. Empty. No lights. She stopped and stared. Remembered the first time she had seen this house, with a chirpy realtor talking about original woodwork while her parents nodded and told her to keep up. And then there were moving vans and she had a room, her own room, filled with her things. Her space. Home.

Something barked - far off, though, this time. Still, she jumped out of her haze. She looked down at the gate and lifted the latch. It wasn't locked. She walked up to the familiar steps, across the porch, and stared at her front door. She tried to turn the knob. It was locked.

Because no one expected her home. Because she was dead. But she needed to be home.

#

Kitty had, thankfully, said nothing for the rest of the drive until they arrived outside her house, and then only to offer her thanks before she trotted up to the little mansion. Rachel still breathed easier when she was gone, and even found herself singing along quietly to the radio when she pulled away from the curb. Out of habit, she turned down the familiar streets that would lead her by Quinn's house - as she had done whenever she had reason to be in this area of town. Not that she did very often, though she was sure Judy Fabray wouldn't be pleased to know it nonetheless, but it was routine now. Being where Quinn had been.

Sometimes, Rachel even drove out to the site of the accident, pulled over, and sat in the grass next to the ditch, where Quinn's car had landed. Not that she knew exactly where it had been, but it was enough to be there. To know that this was where Quinn had left the earth, had taken her last breath, had had her last thoughts. And Rachel would ponder what Quinn's last thoughts had been. If she had even woken up at all before she passed on, if maybe her last thought was, 'God, shut up, Rachel, I'm driving.' Or if she woke up before and it was, 'What happened to me?' Or if maybe she woke up and knew and she thought about Beth. Or Rachel.

She didn't do it very often.

Presently, Rachel slowed as she drove by Quinn's house, peering out through the passenger window at the dark, lifeless mansion - palace. Quinn's palace. It was never full of life, of course. The lights were always down whenever Rachel saw it, and the landscaping had suffered over the past three years. Weeds had sprung up with flowers in their neat beds, and the hedges had grown wild. The lawn hadn't been mowed in a while, either. And it certainly wouldn't help the flowers out for someone to be stepping on them as they peeked through windows.

Rachel slammed her foot on the brake.

Someone stepping on Quinn's flowers? She peered closer, squinted - there was a figure in the dark, trying to pry open the window - Rachel jerked the gear shift into park and sped for the open gate.

"Hey!"

The figure jumped - hard - and its hair flung - it was looking at her - and then it ran. Rachel sped after it, around the back of the house, and cursed her short legs - it disappeared around the corner just as she arrived, and again around the back of the house, but this time it was streaking across the lawn - couldn't disappear this time.

Rachel ran, half-digging for her cell phone now to call the police - now that she thought about it, confronting and chasing a robber hadn't been her brightest idea, but now that she'd started there was no point in stopping. Except if it made it over the back fence it was about to jump. It jerked upward, keened so painfully Rachel couldn't help but grimace in sympathy, and fell in a lump to the ground, but by the time Rachel arrived, panting for breath, it was up but cowering in the corner the fence and a shed provided.

"You - are very fast," Rachel breathed, stopping only once she was sure she could block the robber if it moved again. "But I suppose making a living as a _thief_ , having to run from the law all the time, you must...be…"

She had been on the verge of a rant. She could feel it, even. But then she noticed, in the dim light the moon provided - the robber was _filthy_. Filthier than even any homeless person she had ever seen, and she'd seen plenty in New York. The feet were practically black with grime, and it wasn't much better above that. Dirt and mud was smeared over every inch of skin and dress - a dress hanging around a slim frame. It was a woman. Cowering there, _shaking_. _Afraid_? Of Rachel? And her hands were...unsightly. Even in the darkness, Rachel could tell they'd been torn to shreds, that it wasn't only dirt on them, but blood.

Rachel almost dropped her phone, but thankfully managed to lower it into her purse before she did. She wondered - had this pitiful creature been running from something else? Been trying to break into Quinn's house to get away? Rachel looked to catch the woman's eyes. The hair was fairly short, and so filth-covered Rachel couldn't even guess at the natural color, but the woman was peering out at her from beneath it - she could faintly see the glint of light off an eye.

"Hey… Are you okay?" The woman grimaced, pressed herself further into her corner, so Rachel lowered her voice an octave or two more. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm only here to help, okay? Can you tell me what happened?"

She tried a step forward, but the woman flattened herself again and Rachel feared the way she sucked in her breath would leave her to pass out - she didn't look very healthy on top of everything else. So Rachel stepped back again, cautiously, and bit her lip in thought.

"Can you tell me your name?" She peered hopefully. "I'm Rachel."

And then suddenly, the woman was looking at her directly. Not from behind her hair, but looking _at_ her. With frightened hazel eyes. Rachel lost all the breath in her lungs. It wasn't possible.

"Quinn?"


	3. II

**II**

It wasn't possible. Not possible. Categorically _impossible_. No one came back from the dead. Not ever. Well, not never - there were those occasional moments when someone would seem to die on the table and the doctors performed their shocks and brought them back. But no one came back from the dead after three years. No one. People only came back like that in fantasy - both the genre and in Rachel's own thoughts.

And that had to be it. She was daydreaming. Or hallucinating. Or something, because it wasn't possible for Quinn to be standing there in front of her. Quinn was dead, she'd accepted that, and no amount of fantasizing was going to bring her back. Rachel had _seen_ her body, at the funeral, she'd _seen_ her in the casket, she'd _seen_ it lowered into the ground…

And Quinn was just filthy enough to have been crawling out of the ground. And her hands… Bloody enough to have been breaking through solid wood.

Rachel's stomach flipped three times over - if she hadn't been on the verge of sobbing, she would've thrown up. As it was, her throat was already a little jammed. Jammed from a lump that had settled there quite insistently since she'd spoken Quinn's name, along with a sting in her eyes and an ache in her pounding heart, so powerful she held a hand over it to keep it from going anywhere. She lurched forward a step, and Quinn cowered again.

"I'm sorry." Rachel blurted it reflexively, but she couldn't take back the step.

It was Quinn. It had to be. As impossible as it was, why would Rachel imagine this? Dirty Quinn, scared Quinn, _tortured_ Quinn. Whenever she truly imagined Quinn alive, it was like she never died. Or like she was just back, inexplicably there to give Rachel one of those full, grasping hugs and tell her it was okay. And she was clean and shining, _glowing_ , and smiling. Not like this. Not like this at all.

It was still impossible, but explanations would have to wait. Rachel had to get Quinn home, clean - and bandage those hands. She sniffed back the oncoming tears and snot, blinked her eyes clear, and cautiously reached out to Quinn.

"Quinn? It's me. It's Rachel," she ventured softly - Quinn's eyes darted to hers again, and Rachel tried for a smile. "That's it, it's okay. I'm going to take care of you." She nodded, for reassurance. Quinn looked at her hand again. "It's okay. It's just me."

It was disheartening to see how Quinn hesitated. But Rachel swallowed the disappointment down and tried for a bigger smile. Now was not the time to dwell in self-pity, especially since it was perfectly understandable. Quinn must've been thoroughly traumatized, to have woken up...where she did and she was already claustrophobic, and then to have to do what she had to have done to get out… And Rachel wasn't sure Quinn was seeing too well, for her eyes kept narrowing and widening as if in an attempt to focus. Perhaps she didn't even recognize Rachel. So she kept talking.

"Just Rachel. Just rambling, annoying midget Rachel, remember? I'm right here and I know you're scared, but it's going to be okay now. I promise, I'm going to take care of you. I won't let anything happen to you again, Quinn. Just come with me."

It worked - Quinn moved, and though her body was still quivering, she sagged from the fence and shed wall, no longer pressing herself there so insistently, and then she cautiously, carefully set her fingers over Rachel's. Rachel bit on her own bottom lip to keep from sobbing and startling Quinn back into her corner, but she couldn't help a few tears, nor the grin that blossomed on her face as her heart soared up to the moon. Quinn was really there. Really touching Rachel. Physically and undeniably _there_.

"Okay, okay. That's good, come with me now, it's okay," Rachel coaxed, forcing past the sniffles as she backed up a step at a time, and Quinn followed, one step at a time, staring steadily at Rachel.

It was distracting, to say the least, looking up into those intent hazel eyes, not so frightened anymore, but still wary, searching. Rachel tried to keep smiling to reassure her and kept up a steady murmur of 'it's okay's, though she wasn't sure who she was telling that to. Once she had Quinn out of the corner, away from the fence and the shed where she could dive at any moment, Rachel straightened to walk next to her instead, and Quinn watched her all the way to her side, but she kept going, walking alongside Rachel, hand in hand. She wasn't gripping at all, but she didn't take her hand away, so Rachel counted it in the plus column.

She didn't run, either, not until they arrived at the gate. They made it all the way across the lawn, around the house, and down the front walk - but as soon as Quinn saw Rachel's car and where they were headed, she lunged away. Unprepared, Rachel could only grab for her hand again, catching her elbow - fortunately - and resisting when Quinn struggled and whined.

"Quinn, wait! It's okay! We won't - we won't take the car, okay? Just let me...let me park it and get my things and wait here. Will you wait here for me? Stay?" Rachel stroked the dirty sleeve of the dress, up and down Quinn's arm, until she felt her relaxing again, stopped resisting, and only stood.

Still, Rachel hesitated to leave her there, even for a moment. To look away could be disastrous. But the logical side of her protested, it wasn't exactly a brilliant idea to leave her car sitting in the middle of the road, still running, unlocked, with her keys inside. So she reluctantly stepped back, repeating softly 'stay' over and over until she nearly tripped on the curb and had to turn around - still, she glanced back a few times on the way to her car. Quinn just stared, standing just inside the gate as if it would protect her.

Rachel hurried anyway, plopping into her seat and pulling to the curb, flipping the engine off and grabbing her keys and double-checking her purse and phone before she rushed back to Quinn - she was still there, waiting. And Rachel had to decide what to do next with no travel by car. She assumed that counted out any other type of automobile as well, including busses, and while she had no problem walking back to her house with Quinn, it occurred that perhaps she shouldn't.

Perhaps she should take Quinn into her own house, knock until Judy woke, except it didn't look as if anyone was home. The lights were never on anymore, but the car was gone, too. So maybe Rachel should take Quinn to the hospital. After all, she'd just come back _from the dead_. A million things could be wrong, technically, _were_ wrong, because no one came back from the dead. But then, would they even believe Rachel? And if they did, if they figured out that she was telling the truth, what would they do to Quinn?

Quinn was just staring at her, waiting, when Rachel came back around to her original decision. She had to get Quinn home. She offered her hand again, smiling for reassurance, and Quinn didn't hesitate this time when she took it, flooding Rachel with relief.

It was all so unreal, but Rachel couldn't think about that. Instead she walked, leading Quinn down sidewalk after sidewalk in the dark. She learned quickly that cars, especially moving ones, were a source of great fear for Quinn. She tried to run every time she saw one, and so it took twice as long to get home, as Rachel learned to cut down a different street anytime she saw a car coming, and she was already avoiding the streets she knew had a lot of traffic. But she understood. It pained her, but she understood. Quinn probably wouldn't be okay with being in a car for a good, long time.

By the time they were finally at Rachel's house, her father still wasn't home, but Quinn was trembling more than ever and now let out little noises Rachel realized might've been whimpers. She cringed at the very thought that Quinn might be in pain, but there'd been no other way to get to her house, and soon, she reassured herself, Quinn could rest and Rachel would do whatever she could to ease whatever pain she was in. Painkillers, bandages - she mentally located all the things she would need before they even stepped inside.

When they did, Quinn took up looking at her surroundings - tilting her head this way and that, while Rachel shut the door behind her and sucked in a breath, first step of her mission complete. She flicked on the porch and then the foyer lights before she turned around to face Quinn again. She looked even dirtier in the light of the house, and she was cowering again, squinting her eyes almost shut.

"Are you okay?" Rachel reached for her arm, gently petting again to soothe Quinn. "I'm sorry it's taken so long… We're going to get you upstairs and cleaned and bandaged up and then you can rest, okay? Just a little longer. Come on with me."

She took Quinn's hand again before making the march up the stairs, taking it slow for her sake, and tossed her purse and keys onto her desk once they were safely in her room. She wasn't sure exactly how her father would respond to seeing a girl he thought was dead in their house, after all, so it was better for now if they stayed in Rachel's rooms. Quinn walked past the door again to look around, so Rachel hurried to shut it and flip on the lights - and this time she caught Quinn's flinch at the brightness - she turned it off instantly.

"Oh, gosh. I'm sorry, Quinn, I didn't realize...are you okay? We'll-we'll leave them off, I just need one light, okay?" Rachel traversed over to her lamp, turning it on its lowest setting, and although Quinn still grimaced, it wasn't near the pained jump of before. Still, Rachel prompted her, "Is that okay? Quinn?"

She didn't say anything. Nor did she nod, or shake her head. She only walked to the wall, the wall her picture had once been up on, along with so many others, and stared at the emptiness. As if she knew something was missing. Rachel cleared her throat and stepped to her side again, carefully settling her palm over Quinn's shoulder. She was instantly pinned with hazel eyes, and she wanted to cry all over again.

Rachel swallowed. "Let's get you cleaned up? Come on…"

She curled a finger, backing up a step and drawing Quinn by her arm, until she was cooperatively following again, into the bathroom this time. Rachel turned on the tiny lamp on the corner of her counter in lieu of the big overhead lights, and it offered her just enough to work with when she turned to Quinn again.

"Okay, um. There's hot water and different kinds of shampoo and soap and conditioner in the shower and you can use _whatever_ you want, okay?" She turned to the cupboards to pull things out as she spoke. "Here's a nice fluffy towel and a washcloth and don't worry about the dirt - use as many as you need. In fact, let me get you a few more washcloths out. I don't want you to touch your-your hands yet, I'll take care of those when you're finished, but here's some painkillers and I'll get you some water - for right now - and oh, I should grab you some clothes, and - oh."

Rachel stopped herself, gulping down another lump combined with vomit when she noticed that Quinn was attempting to undo the buttons on the top half of her dress, only her hands were shaking wildly and her fingers were sluggish and clumsy from their injuries. She lurched forward before she could stop herself, taking Quinn's wrists to draw them gently away.

"Oh, no, honey - let me. It's okay. I'll get you taken care of, don't worry," she mumbled, swiftly pulling the buttons loose - tiny clods of dirt fell to the floor as she did so - and Quinn only watched her.

It drove Rachel to distraction - again - and the speed with which she had started fell to a near stop by the time she reached the last of the buttons at Quinn's waist. The skin underneath the dress was nearly as dirty as that outside, and it didn't look as though her undergarments were in much better shape, but Rachel hardly noticed any of that, staring up at Quinn's eyes and her lips and her face. Covered in dirt and grime and Rachel wanted to cry. She had forgotten how beautiful Quinn was, in living color. How alive those eyes were.

She wanted to touch, to memorize Quinn's face with her fingers and lips, in case this moment ended. And she wanted a hug. Before she could stop herself, Rachel flattened herself up against Quinn's long body, curling her arms up around a perfect neck and breathing in deeply, and even though she smelled like mud and death, buried underneath that was the tantalizing scent of baked apple pie. Rachel sobbed into it, all the harder because Quinn wasn't holding her back, but it only made her grip tighter, longer, for every moment she hadn't gotten to for three years.

"I'm sorry," was all she could bring herself to say when she finally let go and lowered herself to her heels, and Quinn just looked at her.

Rachel covered her face to keep from crying all over again, and once she was certain that empty stare wouldn't kill her, she went back to helping Quinn undress, pushing the dress off her shoulders and then reaching around to unclasp her bra. Under normal circumstances, this would've brought a blush to her cheeks, but at the moment, she had one goal - get Quinn clean. The longer she let this filth infest, the likelier it was that her hands would end up infected. So Rachel pulled the bra away and then slid down Quinn's underwear and gathered all the muddy clothes up together, grimacing at them.

"I, um, I don't think these are going to be salvageable, but I can - I can try? I'll take them down to the laundromat tomorrow and see if they'll wash out at all, maybe bleach will work." She nodded to herself, since Quinn said nothing, and opened the cupboard for a plastic bag to shove them in, muttering, "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Okay. In the shower now."

Rachel pushed the shower curtain aside, turning up the heat all the way before she went to adjust the cold temperature - but paused when she noticed black already running down the drain.

"Oh, Quinn! It's too hot, you're going to...burn yourself."

Quinn didn't seem to hear, or even care that the water was already steaming when it hit her skin. She had thrust her face full-on into the spray, letting it pour into her hair and down her body, already pushing away layers of dirt and mud from her skin, which was quickly turning pink and red - but her eyes were closed, as if it were the best feeling in the world. Rachel was quick to adjust the temperature nonetheless, until it was coming out warm and still steaming mildly but not threatening to burn Quinn's precious porcelain skin.

And now Rachel blushed, looking at Quinn's lank, trim body as dirt disappeared, chunked away, leaving behind only skin, what seemed like miles of it, wet and supple. The defined line down to her navel carried a steady trickle of water, pooling and then breaking into separate paths in the v of her hips, down to the faint patch of blonde curls - Quinn hacked and Rachel blinked, gawking when she saw that she was letting the water fill her mouth up and then spitting it out - and when she did, it was brown, almost black as the rest of the dirt cascading off her body.

And no wonder she hadn't been speaking. Rachel made a mental note to grab out all of her dental supplies - and some Q-Tips, she could only imagine how clogged her ears and nostrils must be - before she reached behind Quinn for shampoo. She thought perhaps to strip herself of clothing, too, but it didn't really matter since she was going to have to change anyway, after hugging herself to all that dirt and mess. So instead she stood as near to the edge of the tub as she could and reached up into Quinn's hair, cut short as the day she died, and started scrubbing vigorously.

Quinn made another noise - not a whimper this time. In fact, she sounded rather pleased, and even leaned her head back further for Rachel to reach, and stayed there all through the shampooing and conditioning process, until her hair was golden blonde again. Brilliant and beautiful, shining. The bottom of the tub was already going to need a thorough cleaning, and they hadn't even cleaned her body yet.

But Rachel didn't mind it. Not when every piece of muck removed brought Quinn closer, made her look more and more like herself. So she just grabbed the first washcloth and started with Quinn's back, soaping only lightly until Quinn turned herself fully and leaned into it, and made more of those pleased sounds with every increase in pressure, until Rachel was practically giving her a soapy massage, only all over her body. She lifted her hair up to make sure she hit every avenue - behind her ears, up to the edge of her hair on the back of her neck, even in her ears a bit - and then all over her back and shoulders, over her rounded ass - which Rachel spent most of her time cleaning staring at the ceiling - and down her legs, until Quinn was holding onto her shoulder for balance while Rachel cleaned her toes, right down to the nails.

And then it was up again, and Rachel switched out washcloths - she was definitely, definitely going to have to make a trip to the laundromat. There was no way on earth her father's washer could handle it. Particularly not the amount of dirt that had been on Quinn's feet, nor her legs, particularly around her knees. But Rachel was getting Quinn clean, and that was the important part. Her thighs, her hips, her belly and her breasts - which Rachel again had to look away to do, to resist staring at pink nipples, or worse - her chest all the way up to her collarbone and the front of her neck, and then her arms, down to her hands.

Despite the thickness of the dirt on her feet, Quinn's hands and fingers proved to be the hardest to clean, not only because Rachel had to avoid pressing too hard, or Quinn would flinch and whimper and pull them away, but because they were coated in dirt _and_ blood, mixed together to create an unpleasant crust. Rachel must've spent an hour on them, tenderly sweeping away at the knuckles, beneath her nails, between her long pretty fingers, delicately pulling loose little splinters of wood that made her want to retch all over again. And all the while, Quinn stared at her.

Until Rachel was finally finished and grabbed a final washcloth, to clean between Quinn's legs, as quickly as she could, and then Quinn turned in the water - it ran cold by now, but she didn't seem to mind - to rinse off before Rachel flipped the knobs and beckoned her out. She grabbed the fluffy, long towel to start the process of rubbing Quinn all over, all over again only this time to dry her off and wrap her up in it, which took far less concentration, and so she fell back to chattering.

"There, don't you feel much better now? Now we'll just take care of your hands and brush your teeth and then you can rest, okay? Unless - unless, oh, are you hungry? I could whip you up something downstairs, or my father might bring home some leftovers from dinner, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I nabbed it. I used to all the time, you know, back in high school, they'd have their date nights and I would sneak downstairs after they got home and steal their leftovers. I always picked out the meat, of course, but they never seemed to know the difference." Rachel wrapped the towel about Quinn's waist and brushed her own shirt off with a puff. "There. All clean. Except, you know, your ears and teeth. You know, let's do that next. I'll take care of it."

The process of cleaning out Quinn's ears was much simpler than everything else, so Rachel started with that before she had Quinn open her mouth, and she didn't envy dentists at all once she got started flossing and brushing for Quinn. Still, Quinn's cooperation helped, and soon enough Rachel was pulling out the first aid kit to take care of those hands. They looked much better clean, but then, so did the rest of her, and Rachel wasn't about to allow an infection to set in just because she deemed it 'good enough.' It would never be good enough for Quinn.

Peroxide, cleaning out the wound, was the most difficult part, primarily because Quinn jerked away from the pain, though she clearly didn't intend to, because she offered her hands back up almost as soon as she pulled away. Rachel was relieved for that, at least, that Quinn knew she was trying to help, that it was good for her to have the wounds cleaned out and taken care of. Though she didn't enjoy seeing Quinn's pained face, hearing her hold back cries and whimpers in her throat while her jaw worked and her eyes blinked, and so Rachel was happy to have it over with when she taped off the bandages at last, leaving Quinn's hands looking rather like puffed up marshmallows. But that was better than bleeding wrecks.

"So clothes, and food. And something to drink? Water or-or tea? Maybe you'd prefer juice, we have orange juice and grape juice and - oh, painkillers."

Rachel grabbed the bottle out of the medicine cabinet along with a glass, filling it up at the sink before she handed it and a couple of pills over to Quinn. She seemed to handle palming an item and swallowing it much better than the careful finessing of buttons and scrubbing and brushing, and she chugged down the glass of water in almost zero time before handing it back to Rachel.

"So, water," she concluded, and filled it again.

Quinn finished at least five glasses before she shook her head to more - at least that was a reaction of _some_ kind - and Rachel took her hand to guide her back out to the bedroom, where she could select something that might actually fit Quinn. After holding up a few sleep shirts to Quinn's chest, she landed on a long nightgown with tee-sleeves and a Hello Kitty on the front and lifted it over Quinn's head to test it out, helping her get her arms through the sleeves. It fit, so Rachel took the towel, tossing it to the hamper for the time being while she searched for something to wear for herself and a pair of underwear, which she helped Quinn into as well before instructing Quinn to stay again and heading off to the bathroom to switch into a clean shirt and pajama pants.

When she stepped back out into the bedroom, Quinn was hovering around the blank wall again, staring, and Rachel couldn't help but sigh even as she straightened out her shirt and headed toward the bedroom door.

"I'll, um, get something for you to eat then. I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of non-vegan food, but you always liked to eat healthy, so maybe a fruit bowl?" Rachel paused, but again - nothing. Quinn just kept looking at the wall. She sighed. "Right. I'll figure something out, I guess. Just stay here, rest, maybe try to get some sleep, or just stare at the wall some more, it's pretty interesting, I guess - "

"Rachel."

The lump was back, but it was pure tears this time. It was Quinn. Quinn's voice. It was husky, and creaked from lack of use, but that was _Quinn's voice_ and it was soft and gentle and she sounded like an angel. Rachel almost broke forward - but then Quinn turned around and looked at her, in that way she'd been all night, only this time she finally spoke.

"Rachel."

Rachel flew forward before she even knew what she was doing, and this time when she pressed herself to Quinn and held on tighter than she knew she could, Quinn held back, with both arms, all the way around her. And she smelled like baked apple pie and a hint of cinnamon.


	4. III

**III**

Rachel. Quinn remembered Rachel. She remembered Rachel in her arms, snug and safe and beaming, exuding her warmth and smelling like sunshine. She remembered the taste of forgiveness, sweet and prickling. And she remembered the panic of lateness and 'on my way' and gut curdling pain and drowning in metal. She remembered dying.

And now Quinn was alive and Rachel was in her arms, sobbing, and Quinn was still in pain, but Rachel was warm and she smelled like sunshine and held so tight to Quinn's neck she knew she was very much alive. She hadn't been sure for a while. Everything had been so fuzzy and painful and bright and hard, it was like a combination of her worst nightmares - not the images, but the feelings. Confusion, fear, and pain driving her forward in an unfamiliar plane, until she'd found her house, until Rachel found her, until Quinn found home.

Finally Quinn felt calm, felt her body unwinding - and she was exhausted. But she was alive and holding onto Rachel, who couldn't seem to stop crying, wetting the nightgown with her tears and dribbling nose. Quinn couldn't say anything. It had taken all her energy just to say Rachel's name, and though she wanted to offer comfort, to soothe her, all she could manage was to pet Rachel's hair with her thickly bound hands and to hold her close until she was finished. Beyond that, even, because even if Rachel was ever ready to let go, Quinn wasn't sure she would be.

She didn't even know how long the crying had lasted when Rachel pulled back - and she hadn't stopped. Tears still streaked down her dampened cheeks even as she peered up at Quinn with big brown eyes and held her face in both hands, just looking for so long Quinn feared she'd lost her voice, too.

Thankfully, Rachel smiled and blubbered, "You're so pretty," and fell back to sobs again, dropping her head against Quinn's chest and holding herself there. "I've missed you... _so much_. I'm so sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - "

She kept on like that, a never ending stream of apologies, while Quinn tried to gently shush her, bewildered. But this time, her shushes and petting and holding didn't seem to be calming Rachel in the least.

Quinn mustered a breath, two, before she managed to murmur, "Don't… Don't be."

Rachel hiccupped thrice, stroked her fingers down to the base of Quinn's neck, and peered up at her blearily and wept, "What?"

Quinn sighed and sucked in more air this time. "Don't be sorry. Don't cry."

She had had plenty of water by now, but still her voice came out crackling and rough. She supposed it was another side effect of dying, like the pain. Or maybe it was from lack of use, because she hadn't spoken since before she died, and she had no idea how long she'd been dead. Rachel didn't look quite ready to answer a question like that, not yet. She was still fragile in Quinn's grasp, ready to break at the wrong touch, so Quinn held her tongue for the moment, while Rachel's expression shifted.

Her warm hands were holding Quinn's face again, thumbs petting her cheeks and fingers pushing her hair back - it felt good enough to purr. "Quinn, you're in pain, you're still shaking. You need to rest; come on, we'll-we'll get you into bed and I'll bring up something for you to eat and then you can - "

"Not-not hungry," Quinn mumbled, but Rachel only snuffed and adamantly shook her head.

"No, you need to eat something." But then she stopped, hesitated, and Quinn read the puzzlement in her face even before she went on. "Or maybe...you don't. I don't-I don't know, I don't know what you're supposed to do in this kind of situation, maybe you don't even eat food anymore, maybe you're not even human. I mean, technically doesn't this make you like a zombie or a vampire, or-or oh, God, what if you drink blood? Obviously you haven't attacked me so you must not be a violent vampire, but I don't know if I can stomach buying blood from the butcher's shop or - do they even sell blood at the butcher's shop?" Again, she was shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. If you drink blood, you drink blood, and I'll find a way to get you some, even if it is disgusting, because I promised I would take care of you and I will."

Finally, Rachel stopped and puffed for breath, looking up at Quinn with a teary smile and settling her flailing hands back on Quinn's shoulders. Quinn knew it was her turn to speak now, that Rachel had finished her rambling and it was time to say - something. But she couldn't think of a single word. She wasn't hungry. The very thought of food made her stomach grimace, so she assumed that meant any type of food. Even the ridiculous idea that she might want blood or brains or something.

Though, Quinn supposed Rachel had a point. People didn't come back from the dead, not in real life, only in horror stories and the occasional fairytale. Waking up in her coffin and crawling out of it felt considerably more like a horror story, however - and in those, the dead were usually, like Rachel said, zombies or vampires. And even though they didn't exist, people didn't come back from the dead, either. So now that she had, perhaps Quinn had to open her mind to other impossibilities becoming possibilities. She couldn't exactly be the resurrected corpse who didn't believe in ghosts.

But Quinn didn't feel like a zombie or vampire. Not that she knew what it felt like to be either one of those things, but typically zombies were mindless brain-eaters, right? And she was having a lot of thoughts outside of 'brains.' Vampires were more thought-having, but she wasn't necessarily any colder, and she could feel her heart thunking in her chest when Rachel touched her face.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter what she was, she was alive now. Alive and home.

"Quinn?" Rachel's thumbs brushed steadily across her cheekbones, and her head was tilted in that adorably questioning way. "Where did you go?"

She breathed in slowly. "Nowhere. Not...not hungry," she repeated, and Rachel's shoulders dropped a fraction.

If she'd thought she could've swallowed and kept something down, Quinn would've immediately offered to eat anyway, seeing the disappointment in Rachel's eyes. She had been so focused all night, with her mission of taking care of Quinn, and now to see her falter was heart-wrenching, and she had to offer Rachel a new mission. Something, however, that would not require moving from their current position, because Quinn wanted nothing more than to keep anchoring herself to Rachel, to keep holding her, keep her from falling apart. The way she did every time they hugged. It had only been twice, granted, before Quinn died, but…

A thought occurred. Quinn reached up for Rachel's hand, prying it away from her face just as Rachel was saying something about wishing she would rest, and quirked her eyebrow at an empty ring finger. Rachel stopped speaking instantly, her expression going truly solemn for the first time all night, and Quinn already hated to ask - but she had to know.

"You're not married."

Rachel's lower lip tucked in, and she shook her head mildly. "No." Her breathing had changed, and Quinn loosened her grip on Rachel's fingers, but she didn't take them away. "Quinn...there's…" She sighed, closing her eyes. "Finn's dead."

Quinn blinked.

Finn dead, too? Finn. Dead.

It wasn't sinking in. It didn't make sense. For them both to be dead and now Quinn was the one who was back? Finn was the better person. Or at least, had the better track record, was better loved by those around him. Why wouldn't he be back? Why was he dead in the first place? And when? Had Rachel been struck by Quinn's death, believing she was responsible, and then at the same time destroyed by Finn's passing? In the same day? Same week? Same month? Or had it been longer?

Quinn couldn't wait anymore. "How long?"

Rachel sucked in a long breath, and her eyes were welling with fresh tears. "Three years."

Quinn dropped back. Rachel already looked like she was going to break into pieces without Quinn's arms around her, but she couldn't stop the wayward motion. The way the news knocked her back until she was sitting on the edge of the bed and that helped - the world stopped spinning enough so that she could breathe again.

She'd been in that coffin for three years. She should be decomposed, rotted, utterly unsalvageable. But her body was as pristine as it was the second before she was crushed into oblivion, aside from the pain ebbing through her bones. Had she been unconscious in there? Contained and maintained in perfect condition, trapped until…? Until what? Until some cosmic power decided she should be awake and alive again? She couldn't remember where she had been after dying. Not precisely, anyway. She only remembered a feeling, a feeling of pain. Was that in the coffin? Or had her soul, her essence been elsewhere while her body rotted, until her return? And still she was left with why. Why was she alive again?

And after three long years. Quinn had missed it all. Missed being back on the Cheerios, prom, Nationals, graduation, Yale - oh, God, _Yale_. And oh, _Beth_. Three years of Beth's life. She'd be five now. Walking and talking and learning to tie her shoelaces and maybe losing baby teeth and getting ready for school. Maybe already enrolled in kindergarten, learning her ABC's and 123's and how to share and how to be kind and maybe laughing at Elmo or imitating Cookie Monster. Calling Shelby 'mommy' and maybe Puck 'daddy,' with no idea of Quinn's existence or love.

Quinn grabbed reflexively at her chest, for her cross, but it wasn't there. She twisted the collar of the nightgown instead. Five years old. A little lady. And Quinn would've been twenty-one. _Rachel_ was twenty-one. Her friends were twenty-one. They'd lived through prom and Nationals and graduation and three years of college while Quinn rotted in a box in the ground. Alongside Finn, apparently. She might've been sick, but there was nothing in her stomach to throw up.

Rachel was looking at her with a pained expression of concern, staring and fidgeting as though she wanted to help but had no idea how.

Quinn swallowed bile, cleared her throat, and prompted, "What else is different?"

Rachel grimaced, but took a breath. "Well…"

#

It took a long time to get through it all. Rachel explained everything as thoroughly as she could, starting from the moment they at the church had found out about Quinn's accident. Apparently Rachel had already been delaying the wedding for Quinn, and when they heard the news, they called it off altogether to go to the hospital, where they were soon informed Quinn had died of her injuries. Things got back to normal after a few weeks and Quinn's funeral - which was odd to hear about, to say the least. How many people got the opportunity to find out what people said at their funeral? No one, really.

But people had been kind, Rachel told her. Her mom had been unable to speak - God, her mother - but Coach Sylvester and Mr. Schuester had. Around the coffin-lowering, the glee clubbers had all shared a good memory of her. Finn started that, saying one of their best times as a couple had been the day Quinn had taught him how to pick out a properly fitting suit. Rachel couldn't recall all of the memories, of course, but she did mention that Mercedes shared their moment in the nurse's office, that Quinn had called her beautiful, and that Santana and Brittany had both said that Quinn had just wanted someone to love her, and that they both did.

After that, normalcy resumed for the most part. At prom, Rachel had won the queen's spot to Finn's king. Rachel explained Santana later revealed it was her doing, as a 'final favor' to Quinn, that Quinn would've wanted Rachel to have it. In a swell of pride in her crazy best friend, Quinn had nodded, and Rachel smiled and sat next to her then before she carried on with the story of their win at Nationals, which they had dedicated to Quinn as well, and the joy of graduation, save for Brittany - unsurprisingly, but unfortunately - being held back.

Finn up and left Rachel for the army before she carried on to New York to try at NYADA again, more successfully this time, while Finn's adventure was far less so, but the two of them still broke up when he returned. As did Santana and Brittany, and Kurt and Blaine. That pair of couples was back together now, however, Quinn was relieved to hear, and both due to be married quite soon, though there had been several breakups and makeups along the way that Rachel was kind enough to detail.

It all held very few surprises, Quinn found, aside from Finn's unexpected death and Puck joining the Air Force - she thought he'd never change. Outside of that, there had been the usual upheavals they all faced through high school, because a bunch of drama queens could never just settle down and live life, and glee club had even ended for real at one point. But now Rachel and many of the others were back, helping to build it back up, even hosting a little party to celebrate that very night and driving Kitty, who Quinn was given to understand was at least attempting to become her carbon copy, home - where Rachel had found Quinn.

And Rachel was with Sam.

Quinn was beginning to think he had some kind of bet going after Rachel had said he'd been dating Brittany for a while. Perhaps he was seeing if he could date all the girls in the glee club at least once. Rachel didn't explain her own reasons for being with him, just looked away while she said they had kissed a few times and now they were kind of together. It was kind of ironic, really. Quinn had died while Rachel was with the captain of the football team and now she was back to life, while Rachel was with the former captain of the football team. Full circle, she supposed.

But now what?

That was the real question, Quinn guessed. Even knowing all that had happened didn't help explain why she was back now, why or how. And it didn't help her decide what to do now, because now that she was back, she had to do something, didn't she? But to uproot everyone now, when they were just finding happy beginnings, it didn't seem fair, and what would the world do with her? The girl who came back to life after three years.

Would they investigate her life? Try to prove it was a hoax, that she was a liar, had faked her own death and gone into hiding? Then throw her in jail for fraud? Or if they believed it, found no proof of fraud, would they examine her? Turn her into a science experiment? She knew it was a ridiculous fear, founded on the basis of movies where mermaids and aliens feared scientists and dissection most, but how else would the world react to someone who came back from the dead? It wouldn't be boredom. She wouldn't be cast aside, given her life back with a wave of the hand and a torn up death certificate. No, there would have to be blood tests, to prove she really was Lucy Quinn Fabray, for starters, and then questions. Not just from the scientific and medical communities, but the religious community - where had she been? Had she seen the proverbial white light? Was she in heaven? Did God exist? What about Satan?

It could grow never ending, and Quinn had no answers to any of those questions - well, perhaps to the second one - and so the upheaval of her own life would be for naught. She could supply no one with answers or comfort of any kind, not even herself. It would've been better if she had just stayed dead. Especially now, with her friends happy and Rachel with Sam. He, of all the men she'd known, had the best chance of making Rachel happy, because he was a genuinely good man.

"Quinn? You've gone somewhere again." Rachel's gentle fingers were sweeping now dry strands of hair from Quinn's face, curling them around the shell of her ear. "What are you thinking about?"

Quinn breathed in slowly. "Everything. What I'll do now."

Rachel paused, even her fingers stopping. "You'll stay here. I'll take care of you, I told you I would." She puffed and burrowed her fingers into the bulk of Quinn's hair instead, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes in pleasure. "Besides, it's too much to think about right now, you need to _rest_. It's almost morning."

She felt her mouth trying to smile. "It's not like I have to be up for anything."

"Don't talk like that." Rachel bit on her lower lip, and then her weight and warmth was pressing against Quinn's side, her breath on her neck and her chin on her shoulder. "We'll figure it out together, but it has to be one step at a time, or you'll overwhelm yourself. You need to take it easy."

"Because so far I've had it so rough, lying flat on my back."

Rachel swatted Quinn's arm. She nearly jumped out of her skin - not from the swat, but from the harshness of it - and then Rachel grabbed her chin with an unyielding grip, and Quinn could only stare at fierce brown eyes.

" _Don't_ talk like that," she repeated, slower this time. Her eyes were already welling. "Do you not...understand how... _important_ it is that you're in this world again? When you died, I…" A pink tongue slipped out, wetting her lips. "Just don't say things like that, okay? Please…"

Rachel's grip loosened from her chin, enough to allow Quinn to tilt her head and to turn to scoop Rachel back into her arms again. Rachel pressed into her instantly, curling both arms up around her and squeezing closer, until her little puffs of breath landed immediately against Quinn's neck. She was sniffling again, but this time there were no heaving sobs; still, Quinn stroked her hands up and down Rachel's back, as well as she could with her bandages, and breathed in her sunshine, back home again.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

Rachel relaxed marginally more with each utterance, so that Quinn wasn't being squeezed into juice, but merely comfortably held. She rested her cheek against silky brunette hair, sighing through her nostrils when she realized the sun was peeking above the horizon, though she supposed it had to come sometime. But Rachel would have to let go and go live her life soon. Go be with the living and Sam, while Quinn sat empty-armed in the dark. The idea only made her hold tighter.

"You should sleep, while you can still get some in," she mumbled anyway.

Rachel sighed as she lifted her head, peering up at Quinn with big brown eyes. "So should you. I know I've said it a hundred times tonight, but you really need to get your rest; you look exhausted, and you're still in pain, whether you want to admit it or not. You need to let your body recover from - from everything it went through last night, or you're not going to feel better."

Quinn shook her head of the idea instantly - of the idea of closing her eyes again, to seeing nothing but pitch black - "No, I don't...I don't want to sleep."

Rachel stroked her hair, biting on her lip. "Well, I don't, either." She sighed when Quinn eyed her, blinking long wet eyelashes. "I'm afraid if I sleep...I'll wake up and all this will be nothing but a dream. You'll still be gone...and I can't deal with that again, not after all this. You have no idea how much I've missed you."

She breathed in slowly, watching a tear or two slip down Rachel's cheeks. One graced her beauty mark before diving off her jaw, leaving a splotch on her sleep shirt.

"Then let's not. We'll just...lie down and rest."

Rachel smiled a little. "Okay."

A moment later, she was snuggling back into Quinn's neck. They didn't lie down, not for a long time, only after Rachel had fallen asleep in spite of her best efforts, and Quinn lowered them back onto the mattress. Rachel curled even closer then, stretching across her chest and smiling, and as content as Quinn felt, watching Rachel peacefully doze, a part of her still begged to know...now what?


	5. IV

**IV**

Rachel was in the midst of a wonderful dream. The sun woke her gently, in a pile of fresh white sheets, so warm and crisp they felt as if they must've just come out of the dryer, in her own bed in New York City. The loft. Cars honked and whizzed by, faint from stories below, and a smooth breeze from an open window furled her divider curtain. And someone was baking cinnamon apple pie.

She smiled and rose from the sheets, stretching her arms up in a pristine white dress with buttons down to the waist. It was a smidge too big for her, but that made it all the more comfortable. She followed the scent wafting through the air, pushing the divider curtain aside to find herself just outside her bedroom in Lima, with stairs in front of her, but the smell was stronger. She glided down the steps as if they weren't even there and turned into the kitchen. The sun shone brightly through the windows, illuminating the entire room in an unearthly glow - and there she was.

Quinn was bent over the oven, in the Hello Kitty nightgown Rachel had supplied her with the night before. The pie she held between oven mitts steamed and Rachel breathed deeper and beamed, surrounded, penetrated by the smell of Quinn. She thought to run to her, but didn't want to startle the pie out of her hands. She waited, and Quinn pushed the rack back in, closed the oven door, and set the pie on the counter to cool.

She turned to face Rachel, and for a moment, there was nothing but a dirty, decomposed husk of a skull attached to short blonde hair.

But the flicker ended - and there was Quinn's face, Quinn's smile, Quinn's hazel eyes looking golden in the sunshine, her hair aglow with a heavenly light. She looked like an angel. Rachel didn't hesitate to run to her this time, squeezing her arms around Quinn's neck and before she knew it, she was being twirled about the kitchen, like a dance in which her only part was to hold on and never let go. She laughed until Quinn set her down again.

_Why am I here?_

Quinn's mouth didn't move when she spoke, but her eyes sparkled and her eyebrows lifted. Rachel smiled and cupped her cheeks.

_Because I wished it. Don't ever leave again, please?_

Quinn only smiled, and Rachel stood there holding and petting her face until the room started to darken. She looked away - just for a moment - to find blackening clouds overtaking the sun. A phone was ringing faintly in the distance. When she looked back, Quinn was gone.

_Quinn? Where are you? Come back!_

The room was getting darker. The phone chirped louder. Something growled behind her and Rachel whirled - nothing.

_Quinn! Quinn, I need you, come back!_

Thunder roared, the ringing battled it, and another growl echoed the sounds. Rachel whipped around again - but she couldn't see anything anymore, it was too dark.

_Quinn!_

She tried to call again for Quinn, but the noises were too much - thundering, shrieking phone, growling, thunder, phone, growl - they overpowered her voice until it felt like she was saying nothing and she spun around and around in a twister, trying to find the source of the growling and just when she felt her ears about to pop, she woke.

Rachel smelled cinnamon apple pie. And there was something warm and breathing under her cheek. Rising, falling, rising, falling. But the phone was still ringing, and someone was gripping her shoulders, shaking quite gently. A voice against her forehead whispered, "Rachel, wake up."

And then, "OW!"

Rachel grimaced in immediate apology - she'd whipped her head up too fast and succeeded not only in giving herself a head rush, but in possibly breaking Quinn's nose. Quinn. Rachel was torn - but ultimately gave in to her more logical urging first. She pushed herself up slightly to try to see Quinn's nose - though it was difficult when she was leaning her head so far back and holding it with her own bandaged hand.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" Rachel hesitated, hovering her hand about Quinn's and then finally growing too impatient and removing it herself, pushing the hand down and running her own fingers down the length of Quinn's perfect nose. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Quinn's hazel eyes flickered up to her, catching her, and Rachel was breathless again. Quinn.

"I'll live," she muttered, under the heel of Rachel's hand. A roll of her eyes broke their stare. "Or...unlive, or whatever." She lightly pressed Rachel's hand away and sighed.

But Rachel couldn't help herself. She smiled. "You're here."

Quinn's head tilted, as much as it could against the blankets. "I'm here…"

Rachel grinned at the uncertain confirmation and immediately hugged herself back against Quinn's warm, slim body for all she was worth. Quinn's arms wrapped around her again in turn, albeit more slowly and gently than Rachel's iron fast grip. She was soft, like the world's comfiest bed, and her breathing so steady, so calm - Rachel could've fallen asleep all over again. And it would've been perfectly perfect if not for the phone ringing from her desk.

"It's been going off for a while, but I didn't want to wake you. But it's almost nine o'clock now," Quinn rumbled.

Rachel was more careful when she whipped her head up this time. "Oh, God. I was supposed to meet Kurt and Mr. Schuester at school; we're supposed to be brainstorming for lesson ideas for this afternoon!"

In a moment, she was off the bed and in her closet, digging for something suitable to slip on for the glee club meeting. Once she had a skirt and shirt in hand, she marched into the bathroom for the speediest getting around she'd ever done, brushing her teeth and changing at the same time. She didn't bother with makeup - she could go one day without - but ran the brush through her hair a couple times while she trotted back out to the bedroom for stockings and shoes, and it was only when she saw Quinn sitting there, staring at the empty wall and picking at her bandages, that she came to a screeching halt.

"Oh, God."

Quinn peered up at her, eyebrow cocked. "What?"

Rachel dropped her brush on the bed. "I can't leave you. What are you going to do all day?"

A pause before Quinn shrugged. "I'll figure something out."

"No, but you need your bandages changed and we have to figure out what you can eat and what you're going to do next - I mean, not everything you're going to do next, but at least your first baby step, because like I said last night, overwhelming, but we have to start somewhere, I mean, they're all going to want to know you're back, they're all going to want to see you and hug you and be with you and - not that I don't like having you to myself. Actually, it makes me feel kind of special. Even though I know you weren't exactly looking for me or anything, which is totally understandable after what you went through, you must've been so traumatized, I can't even imagine and...you still look exhausted even now."

Rachel's mouth twisted into a frown, and though Quinn didn't look unwell in any other way - other than the constant tension in her jaw, which was quite distracting - she held her hand to her forehead just in case. Normal temperature. The phone was ringing again. She sighed, and Quinn took her hand.

"So I'll rest." She almost looked like she was going to smile, but she didn't. "You go...do what you need to do and I'll rest."

Rachel gently squeezed her fingers and lifted her hand up. "Are you sure? Because I can stay. I promised I would take care of you. And we should at least change your bandages before I go - if I go."

"I'm sure. You should go." Quinn nodded, almost as if to herself. "You don't want to be any later; the bandages can wait. You just put them on last night; they should do until you're back."

Rachel was still unsure. Primarily because there was a large part of her that was desperately opposed to going anywhere without Quinn. That wanted to stay here in bed with her and feed her and nurse her and hold her until she was well and smiling again. But the logical part sided with Quinn, unsurprisingly. She should go and let Quinn be, let her rest, and live up to her responsibilities. Hovering might only stress Quinn further, anyway, and that was the last thing Rachel wanted, to be a burden or an annoyance on her.

"Okay…" she conceded at length, gnawing her bottom lip to pieces anyway. "My father shouldn't be back from work until this evening, usually around five or six, so you have the place to yourself. You can use or eat or do whatever you want, okay?" Reluctantly, she released Quinn's hand to go and pull on her shoes. "I'll be back as soon as I possibly can. Do you want me to make you anything before I go? Breakfast? Pancakes, waffles, French toast, regular toast, cinnamon toast, toasted bagel? We don't have any non-soy products, but I could still make you some tofu eggs or bacon? Oh, I can make some mini-sandwiches for you for lunch and put them in the fridge? Or regular sized sandwiches, or…"

Quinn was just staring at her in that blank, unblinking way. Rachel bit down on her bottom lip more roughly to stop the flow of words, sensing she was becoming more of an irritant than a help. Or rather, that she was over-helping.

"I'm fine," Quinn crackled. "Go. I'll be okay."

Rachel nodded. But she couldn't get herself to go toward the door. And she couldn't speak up - she didn't want to further bother poor, long-suffering Quinn. Quinn just watched her, calm and waiting, and Rachel lunged forward to hug her as tightly as she dared, one more time, before she raced toward the door, grabbing her purse and phone along the way. Still, she had to stop again, to look back. Quinn was looking over her shoulder after her, and that bolstered Rachel's courage.

"Promise me you'll be here when I get back?"

Quinn nodded her chin once. "I promise."

And finally, Rachel felt safe to leave.

#

Quinn was at loose ends. Rachel had finally gone after stopping in the kitchen downstairs for sometime. Quinn had heard her singing while she made something or other. Probably snacks for Quinn. She wasn't really hungry still.

So she spent the first part of the day in the bedroom and bathroom. She took some time flossing, brushing, and mouth washing with another guest toothbrush. The one Rachel had used to clean out her mouth the previous night sat on the counter, almost black from dirt and stiff from not being cleaned. Quinn tried not to look at it - or in the tub, but then it occurred to her she ought to clean up her own mess, so she dug under the sink for cleaning supplies and gathered all the washcloths and the towel Rachel had used on her into the bag with her funeral clothes.

It took about an hour to clean out the tub entirely when all was said and done, but Quinn figured she might as well do the whole bathroom now that she had the cleaning supplies out and continued to work for another half an hour. Rachel was not going to be happy with the state of her bandages, she realized in hindsight, but at least she would have a clean bathroom again.

Though she found herself wondering soon after finishing with the bathroom if she had left any dirt tracks on their carpeting the night before. One peek into the hallway found a few muddy footprints and clods of dirt, so Quinn located the carpet cleaner and the vacuum, and by the time she was finished, the Berry house looked pristine and she looked a mess all over again. Not nearly as bad as the night before, but her sweaty forehead and mussed hair did nothing for her. She would've showered again had she not been limited by her hands. Not only were the bandages a hindrance, but after all the work she'd done and no painkillers, they were starting to pain her again.

Most of the rest of the pain had faded away overnight, thankfully. Quinn had been starting to think she was going to have to live in chronic agony, wishing she hadn't crawled out of her grave at all, but let herself die there. Fortunately, Rachel was right and resting was the solution, along with painkillers.

Quinn thought to take more, but there was a rather suspicious looking brown bag sitting on the kitchen counter, where she'd finished her cleanathon, and it required investigation first and foremost. When she peeked into it, she produced a very odd assortment of foods. A sandwich with what she assumed to be soy cream cheese and grapes in the middle, a dill pickle without a package, creating a very soggy bag indeed, and a container of peanut butter with nothing to go with it. This could only be Rachel's (completely forgotten) attempt at a lunch.

It hadn't occurred to Quinn before how exhausted Rachel must've been. She'd sprung out of bed and talked so quickly - but then all her energy was going into worrying over Quinn's welfare and her own lateness to her appointment with Kurt and Mr. Schuester. Quinn had just assumed she was fine, but Rachel had only gotten four or five hours of sleep, tops. She must've been an absolute mess, which should probably have occurred to Quinn when she saw Rachel slipping on a green-themed skirt and orange-themed shirt. But then she'd been so used to Rachel dressing unusually…

Quinn shook her head of it. She had to find something else of Rachel's that might fit now, dump this unholy lunch, and start a fresh one, because that lunch and a Hello Kitty nightgown was simply not going to do, even if she didn't plan on being seen by anyone she knew.

#

Rachel could barely keep her eyes open. After arriving almost three hours late to their appointed meeting in Mr. Schuester's old office, she'd simply and utterly crashed. Even the multiple mugs of coffee she'd drained seemed to be doing very little good for her stamina, and it didn't help that Mr. Schuester had decided they should look up 'old' music to introduce the week's theme to the kids. And when she said 'old' music, she meant Journey.

Even if she hadn't known all the lyrics to their every song, Rachel would have been bored out of her mind, itching to do something else. Specifically, to be with Quinn, to be taking care of her. Her mind bobbed back to thoughts of her, what she might be doing, how she might be doing. And still, why she had come back to life. What she was now, being back to life. Rachel had always believed a little bit in the occult. After all, where else would her psychic powers come from? But this was something of a confirmation. Not of anything specific, but that some supernatural things could and did happen.

Rachel flicked her gaze over the edge of her computer. Kurt and Mr. Schuester were busy listening away, one with a dull stare, the other with a bopping foot and a smile. She chewed her lip, looked back to her screen, and opened a new tab. Google. Her fingers tapped without typing for a moment, before she entered 'back to life.' Ads for a back support machine came up, along with a song - she could check that out later - album names, more about back support, some unrelated news stories about cloning and the like. She sighed and cleared out the search bar, tapping again, and tried 'back from the dead.' More songs. And a movie from the 1950s.

She tapped again, scowling now. The movie was about possession - she didn't think Quinn was possessed. She seemed perfectly Quinn like. Except for the not smiling. Although it wasn't like Quinn smiled a lot before she died.

Rachel cleared the search bar. After another moment, she typed in 'undead.' Google suggested 'creatures,' so she added it on. There! A Wikipedia page and everything. No songs, no movies. She tried that first, drumming her fingers on the mouse while it loaded, and then finally, read to herself, 'An undead is a being in mythology, legend or fiction that is deceased yet behaves as if alive. A common example is a corpse re-animated by supernatural forces by the application of the deceased's own life force or that of another being (such as a demon). Undead may be incorporeal like ghosts, or corporeal like vampires and zombies. The undead are featured in the belief systems of most cultures, and appear in many works of fantasy and horror fiction.'

Quinn was definitely corporeal. Rachel had spent all night sleeping on her, after all, hugging and touching her. But although Rachel had mentioned the possibility of Quinn being a vampire or zombie, now that she thought about it, it wasn't feasible. While Quinn could've been re-animated after three years to be a zombie, she wasn't mindless. Not at all. And vampires didn't come back after three years, they came back almost immediately, after exchanging blood. Unless the mythology was completely wrong, but - it was too complicated to think on all that. Rachel would start with what she knew by mythology was wrong.

But she didn't know what a draugr was, and that was the first thing listed under 'living corpses.' It all sounded plausible - a strong creature, strong enough to will itself back to life, and Quinn was that strong - until she got to the part where it said they lived in their graves, guarding their treasures. Quinn didn't have any treasures in her grave to guard, and when Rachel read on, she realized it definitely couldn't be. Draugrs smelled and looked like decay and death - and Quinn was still beautiful and lovely smelling.

Rachel closed out that tab and went on. Each one seemed to have some drawback, some reason it couldn't possibly be. Jiangshis of Chinese culture hopped to get around with frozen joints; lichs were entirely skeletal; wights didn't even have a set definition and wasn't even used to describe the undead originally; and revenants only came back to torture the living. Wikipedia had quickly run out of useful suggestions, so Rachel went back to Google again, this time selecting the very first page suggested - and widened her eyes. There were 123 options.

She glanced at Kurt and Mr. Schuester - still staring and bopping away - and went to work opening up tabs, running through them alphabetically, and each time she found a possibility, she sent the link to her email for further perusal on her laptop at home. There weren't many that fit, still, but it was a start. The first possibility she added to her list was the aos si, apparently pronounced 'shee,' Celtic fairies, tall, with sweet voices - Quinn certainly fit that bill. She would look more at that later. Next was the bhut, a Hindu ghost who had died a violent death and cast no shadow. They also smelt of burnt turmeric, but the violent death fit - Rachel would have to check on the shadow part.

It was on this site she re-added the revenant as a possibility. Wikipedia hadn't mentioned the other possibilities for their return. Revenge, or because they had died in agony, but hadn't gone to Hell. And Rachel hated to think of Quinn in Hell. Though Judaism had no concept of it, a whole new world was opening up in front of her, and she couldn't be limited by her religion.

Last was the tash, a shapeshifting ghost type - but the part that caught Rachel's attention was not only another mention of violent death, but - 'If a person who died a violent death was mourned for too long it was believed that they will not enter the Otherworld but remain in this world as a tash.'

Mourned for too long. Rachel had certainly mourned Quinn long. Three years. And as much as she hated the idea that she had done this to Quinn, tortured her soul with the inability to go away, she had to take her dream into account. Quinn had asked, 'Why am I here?' Because Rachel wished it. If that wasn't a psychic clue, Rachel didn't know what was.

Before she could check out any other websites for further information, more possibilities, Mr. Schuester and Kurt were both stretching and standing up, and Rachel flipped off her headphones in surprise.

"Is it time for glee already?"

Mr. Schuester only smiled wryly with Kurt and stepped out, but fortunately her best friend was a bit kinder.

"It's lunchtime, Rach." He tapped his watch.

Rachel flicked her gaze to the corner of her screen and groaned. She'd packed a lunch before she left for the school. Just something quick to get her through the day, because she was already late as it was. She'd done so in a complete daze and in doing so, had completely forgotten to take it altogether.

"What's wrong?"

"I left my packed lunch sitting on the counter at home," she whined.

"So grab something in the cafeteria, I'll come with you."

Happy as she was to help the kids out, Rachel more than loathed the idea of being in that cafeteria with them, eating with them, even standing in line with them. No, she would have to go out or run home instead - where she could check on Quinn. She smiled.

"No, that's okay, you go ahead with Mr. Schuester. I'll see you after lunch!"

Kurt didn't need to be told twice. He was gone in an instant, and Rachel was grabbing her purse, phone, and keys - she'd had to take the bus that morning, after remembering her car was on the other side of town, but she could make it to her car and home and then back to school in time for glee if she walked quickly. Only she didn't make it very far, because as soon as she was in the choir room, there was the sound of tapping on glass. She whipped her head around to find - Quinn's head in the window, alongside a brown bag. The blonde head jerked, and Rachel nodded to signify she'd gotten the message to meet her out back.

And even though this entirely derailed her newly set plans, Rachel couldn't help but grin all her merry way out.


	6. V

**V**

Quinn was waiting for Rachel just beneath the choir room windows, next to the large metal generator she'd hopped up on to see into them in the first place. Fortunately, she wasn't prancing about the neighborhood in that Hello Kitty nightgown, but rather had chosen a pair of grey sweatpants, a red t-shirt, and Rachel's yellow rain boots to wear out in public - along with a pair of round sunglasses she now had settled on the bridge of her nose. She looked perfect. She held out the brown lunch bag as Rachel came within grabbing distance, and she took it with a beam.

"Thank you so much; you've just saved my life, you know that?" Peeking into the bag, she found a sandwich in a Ziploc bag alongside a small package of almonds, one of her soy yogurt containers with a spoon, an apple, a few bits of cut up celery and a little container of peanut butter, and two neatly folded napkins. Rachel grinned up at Quinn. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Quinn only ducked her chin and then she was turning away, back from whence she came, and Rachel grabbed for her instinctively, grasping at her elbow until she stopped.

"Wait! Don't you...I mean, would you like to stay and...we can share," she offered, lifting the bag into Quinn's line of vision, but she promptly shook her head.

"Not hungry."

Rachel deflated slightly. "Still? Or have you eaten something today?"

Quinn's head shook again. Rachel abruptly decided she didn't like the sunglasses. They hid Quinn's eyes too well, made her even more impossible to read than she already was. Rachel needed the indicators, especially if Quinn was never going to smile or even use her face muscles again. Not a frown, not a sneer, nothing. Quinn had hardly even raised her eyebrow since Rachel had gotten her back, now that she thought about it, and that was one of her favorite expressions. It used to feel belittling to Rachel, at least at times, but right now, she missed it.

"Well, maybe...maybe you don't need to eat anymore," she said slowly. "Maybe it's part of the whole undead package or something. But…" She adjusted her grip on Quinn's arm, trying to maneuver her closer. "Stay anyway? We can talk? I mean, unless-unless you're tired and need to go back and rest, I'd understand…"

Quinn's head tilted, but then she stepped forward, and Rachel lured her cautiously backward until they were against the brick of the school and she sat in the grass, patting the space beside her. Quinn sank down cross-legged, and Rachel's shoulders dropped with relief and she pulled out her napkins to set over her knee, starting with the sandwich made with, she soon found out, avocado and tomato slices, lettuce, and hummus. Quinn pushed the sunglasses further up the bridge of her nose and settled her hands on the rubber rain boots, breathing slowly, almost deliberately.

"Nice shades," Rachel tried, teasing. "Were you trying for incognito?"

Quinn's head shook. "No, it's just...the light's still a little…"

Immediately, Rachel's smile dropped. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't - "

"And these were the only shoes of yours that fit, so." She tapped her fingers on the boots.

Rachel gnawed at her lip and set her free hand over Quinn's knee, effectively capturing her attention even from behind the sunglasses. "We'll get you clothes, _and_ shoes, that fit. I'll go to the mall for some tonight, or maybe, we can try your house again - "

Quinn was shaking her head again. "There's no hidden key outside to get in with. And who knows if...she's even kept them."

She squeezed Quinn's knee. "I'm sure she has." She swallowed, considering carefully before she spoke again. "She hasn't...taken it well, from what I've noticed. After you...well, she just hasn't been herself. The other parents said she'd just go to work and home, and I don't think that's changed. She doesn't even take care of the garden or the lawn, they're just - "

"That's because I did," Quinn cut in blankly.

Her eyebrows lifted, nonplussed. "You garden?"

The sunglasses stared at Rachel. "Mom never liked getting her hands dirty. I didn't mind. So it was my job."

"Oh. Well, you always kept it beautifully," Rachel assured quickly, smiling. "I always remember thinking how gorgeous your flowers were whenever I would pass by; it was just one more thing that was unfairly, unnaturally perfect about you." She chuckled, rubbing her thumb over Quinn's knee, but pink lips never moved, so Rachel sobered, tucking her bottom lip under. "Are you going to tell your mother?"

She turned away. "I don't know."

Rachel was torn immediately by the thought. If Quinn revealed herself to her mother, undoubtedly she would move back in with her, be taken care of by her. It was only right and fair. Judy was her mother, she deserved to know that her daughter was alive again and she deserved to be the one to dote and care and help Quinn heal and adjust and make decisions about her life, now that it had been handed back to her. But knowing that it was right and fair and that Judy deserved - had the right to know, to be with and hold Quinn - didn't change the longing deep in Rachel for that _not_ to happen. _She_ wanted to dote and care for Quinn. _She_ wanted to help her heal, physically and mentally, to help her adjust and take the steps to take her life back. She wanted Quinn with her, in her house, in her room, in her bed. Not across town, far away, untouchable.

So this was the one thing Rachel couldn't advise Quinn on, not with her personal desires in the way. When she couldn't even decide whether to push Quinn to tell her mother or to encourage her to keep it a secret just a little bit longer, it was time to step back and to let Quinn make the choice on her own. Rachel could even always privately hope that Quinn would both tell her mother and stay with her instead, but to express that would be unfair. Quinn deserved to decide the life she wanted to have.

"I've been looking into options for what you are now today," she announced brightly, digging into her bag for yogurt now. "There's a lot to go through, as it turns out. You wouldn't believe the options; I mean, cultures _all over_ the world have all these creatures and these myths about them. What they do, what they look like, how they come about, what their agenda is, what they _smell_ like. There's this one creature called a bhut that I'm looking into from Hinduism? Anyway, it's supposed to smell like burnt turmeric, which you obviously don't, and casts no shadow, which you obviously do now that I'm seeing you in the daytime, so I guess that one's out, but it's just so interesting, the detail to which people went to in describing these things - and they actually believed they existed! Which...I guess they probably do, since you're alive now and, well, personally I haven't come up with any other explanation than the one that seems crazy - the supernatural is _real_. Anyway, I'm still narrowing it down - what you are, I mean - and so far I'm thinking either you're a tash, a - "

"Is there a reason I can't just be a human being?" Quinn's voice was so forceful, so rough, Rachel came to a screeching halt and stared. "Do I have to be a _thing_? A creature?"

Regret bubbled up in Rachel's throat instantaneously, and she shifted onto her knees in front of Quinn's bowed head. "Oh, Quinn. No, I didn't mean - oh, I didn't mean to say it that way. Of course you're-you're right. You're right, you're you. You're human. You - there's some other explanation. Some other, we haven't thought of. Maybe...something resurrected you? I don't…" The sunglasses stared, and Rachel chewed her lip, reaching to carefully set her hands over Quinn's. "I'm just trying to… You're right. It doesn't matter how. You're back, and that's _all that matters_." She nodded quickly, trying to peek through, over the glasses, to see Quinn's eyes. "Okay? I'll-I'll drop it. Nothing is as important as the fact that you are back. It's-it's _everything_. Quinn?"

If her actions next were any indication, Quinn was completely unmoved. She removed her hands from beneath Rachel's, bracing on the grass and pushing herself to her feet, preparing to flee the scene. Rachel moved double-quick to catch up, stumbling up and grabbing desperately for Quinn's arm, her stomach leaden with fear - that Quinn would walk away and she would never see her again, never know if she was all right, never touch or hold or -

"Wait, I'm sorry! Quinn, please, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking! Or, or I was thinking too much, or...I don't know, but please don't walk away." Her voice was entering the heights of pleading, moving into whining, sobbing territory and she wanted to smack herself for it, but Quinn turned back to her.

"It's fine." That tone was less than convincing, but Rachel grabbed onto the thread of hope, onto Quinn's fingers when they were within reach. "I know you're just trying to help."

"I am, I really am, that's all it is," she blurted, stepping closer. "I thought...you'd want to know why. You were always - I mean. You _are_ always looking for explanation, for the logic in things, so...I just…" She shrugged helplessly.

Quinn's voice had softened considerably when she spoke again. "Thank you."

But then she turned away again, and Rachel gripped harder to her fingers. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Rachel…" Quinn's eyebrows lifted, at least, above the rim of the sunglasses as she gently untangled her fingers from Rachel's grasp. "I'll be fine."

She gnawed her lip, resisting the urge to grab at her hand again. "I just...I don't want you to be mad at me."

"I'm not." Her head ducked down, until Rachel could finally see those burning hazel eyes, and they stared earnestly into her. "I'm not mad at you. I will see you back at your house." Only when Rachel nodded did Quinn lift her head again, nodding toward the brown bag abandoned on the ground and ordering before she took her leave, "Finish your lunch."

Rachel's fingers trembled a little yet as she watched Quinn walk away, trekking across the school lawn with her head held high. There was little point in sitting outside now, all by her lonesome, though the solitude would provide a chance for her to think - to catch up on her thoughts. But suddenly she felt even more tired than she had at the beginning of the day and she didn't particularly like the idea of falling asleep against the brick wall in the middle of the afternoon. She gathered up her brown bag and trash and rounded the school again to head back to Mr. Schuester's old office, throwing the latter in the first garbage bin she came across.

Quinn was absolutely right. The important thing was not how or why, but that Quinn was alive at all, and Rachel knew that. Cherished it. In the end, if she was never given an explanation, if Quinn was just back and that was it, Rachel would be perfectly content with that. No, content was too lukewarm a word. She would be happy, for the rest of her life, till the end of her days and beyond. Eternally grateful. To have Quinn back, beautiful, wonderful Quinn. It was such a huge gift that Rachel could only wonder what on earth she'd ever done to deserve it. If it was even for her, of course.

But now, without a place to focus the energy and the happiness and the confusion of having Quinn back in her life, without looking to the hows and whys, Rachel was left with just that: now. Now what was Rachel supposed to do? Outside of taking care of Quinn, outside of being happy that she was back, should she be preparing the others for the shock? How did one prepare somebody for a person they knew to be dead coming back to life? She couldn't exactly walk up to Santana or Brittany or anyone and say, 'Hey, by the way, Quinn's alive again.' Could she? Should she? Maybe it would be better to wait to think of the others until Quinn was well enough to think of them, too. But then what was Rachel supposed to do? See the people she loved, that loved Quinn, every day and say nothing? Was that tantamount to a lie? Was it a betrayal? Rachel knew she'd feel utterly destroyed to find out that Quinn had been alive and one of them, any of them, hadn't told her. But what if Quinn didn't want them to know just yet? What if she wasn't ready? Would it then be a betrayal to tell them? Which betrayal was worse? How was she going to look anyone in the eye at this very moment?

Of course, the second Rachel had that thought, the thought realizing that every moment she didn't tell her friends, Quinn's friends, that she was alive, she was deceiving them, there was Sam, waiting in the choir room for her with a big, sweet smile on his face. And the guilt that had set up residence in her throat multiplied, because Rachel hadn't thought of him once, save for when she was telling Quinn about all of them, and even then it had been in the capacity of catching Quinn up - except for the one moment she spared to admit that she was with Sam. That had been the one moment since Quinn came back into her life that Rachel let the guilt of the feelings, the exuberant joy that came with just looking at Quinn's face, remind her that she was tied to another, someone who didn't deserve her betrayal. The feeling was a little harder to avoid with him right in front of her.

"Hey!" Sam kissed her lightly on the mouth, so quickly he didn't notice her failure to return it.

Rachel held up the lunch bag between them, as a barrier. "Hey, what-what are you doing here?"

"Just came by to see how you were doing after last night, and uh, maybe take you out to lunch, but I see you've got that part covered." He chuckled.

She blinked. "Last night…"

Sam's brow crumpled. "Yeah, you were kind of upset. You know, about Quinn and everything."

"Right!" Right, Sam had almost thrown away Quinn's picture, and Rachel had cried on his shoulder, let him comfort her with soft kisses, wished to have Quinn back, just for a minute... "I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm great."

"Okay, great." He chuckled again, rubbing his palms over his jeans. "So how's Kitty doing?"

Rachel opened her mouth - right, she had driven Kitty home. She shrugged. "She seemed fine when I dropped her off last night."

"No, I meant...I saw you guys talking outside, I figured maybe something was up so I just waited for you in here."

Her brow furrowed again. "You did?"

Sam peered at her curiously. "Uh, yeah, you were sitting just outside just now. Unless that was some other blonde girl on the Cheerios."

Blonde. Quinn. Rachel realized - the Cheerios' workout outfits were grey bottoms and red tops. And from a distance, with Quinn sitting next to her, not showcasing their height difference, Sam would of course assume Rachel was speaking to the very much alive head cheerleader instead of the supposedly very dead one. She grimaced at herself for the thought.

"Right. Oh, everything's...everything's fine, she's fine." She nodded quickly.

"Well, great." He smiled. "So."

"So…" Rachel peered up at him expectantly, shifting the bag in her hands.

"Did you want to...I don't know, grab something to bite tonight, or - "

"Can't. I-I can't, I have a lot to get done at home tonight, a lot of chores to finish."

Technically, it wasn't a lie - Rachel did need to get some cleaning done after the cleanup of Quinn. It was almost like The Cat in the Hat. She'd gotten the dirt off of Quinn, but now she had to get it out of her tub, off her floor, washcloths, towel, and that poor toothbrush. And then she'd have to throw away whatever she used to clean those. The towel, washcloths, and Quinn's clothes would definitely have to be cleaned at the laundromat, though Rachel had no idea when she'd be able to find a time for a trip there when she didn't want to leave Quinn alone for even a second if she didn't have to. Though she also still had to make a trip to the mall for comfortable clothes for Quinn - she couldn't bear to see her in her funeral clothes again, even if Quinn could bear to wear them.

"Anything I can help with?"

Rachel peered up at Sam's sweet, genuine face - the knot in her throat tightened. "No. Thank you, but no, I have to do this on my own."

He nodded his understanding, and the knot tightened some more. Why did Sam have to be such a nice, good guy? Fortunately, before he could do anything else that would make her feel worse, Kurt and Mr. Schuester returned from lunch and the bell rang, so he gave her a parting kiss on the cheek and Rachel settled back down at the computer in the old office, groaning tiredly at a page of Journey lyrics she had long since abandoned.

#

Quinn didn't go back to the Berry house immediately. She'd grabbed an extra pair of keys from the table in the foyer on her way out, testing them on the door first, of course, and she fingered them in the sweatpants pocket as she walked, letting her feet take her where they would. She had, fortunately, regained her sense of orientation in the town, recognizing buildings and houses and street signs, but right now she had nowhere in mind to travel. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing, to be out walking around - she still cringed and stepped to the grass whenever a car passed by, and someone she knew could see her at any moment, but she couldn't bring herself to go back to the house. Not yet.

Rachel was right. As much as Quinn didn't want to think about it, she was no longer a normal human being, if she was even human anymore. And chances were, she wasn't. No human came back from the dead, especially not after three years in the ground. Even if she was still human, her options for explanation were still limited, even in the supernatural world, which left her with resurrection by some other power, a necromancer or something, which meant her current existence was being controlled by someone else. Naturally, Quinn didn't particularly like this notion. But nor did she like the thought of being something other than human. How could she trust herself? How could she know herself?

The only way to find out anything was to do exactly what Rachel had been doing - research. Digging out the explanations for herself. And Quinn would have to do that. She had to know what she was, why she was. She had to know if her time back on this plane was limited, or if it was endless. But not right now. Not this very moment.

Even more important right now was the decision of whether or not Quinn should reveal herself to her mother. She found herself outside of her house, outside the front gate again, staring up at its quiet emptiness and seeing exactly what Rachel had described. Disrepair, wild grass, unkempt flower beds and hedges. Her mother had left it for Quinn to do, and Quinn hadn't been there to do it. She pushed open the gate, wandering the path up toward the house. Her mother wouldn't be home for a while, which was all right. It would give Quinn time to think.

Only Quinn didn't think. She knelt down among the flowers, what was left of them. Most of them had died, choked by weeds or starved of water or frozen by too many winters without protection. But there were a few stragglers holding on tight, struggling to live. Quinn started helping them, gathering more dirt around the bases to hold them up straight, pulling weeds from their roots and tossing them into the grass beside her, trimming off dead leaves with her nails. Her bandages were already in poor shape; Rachel was going to have an aneurysm by the time Quinn came back to the house now, but she couldn't stop.

It wasn't fair, to be plopped back into the mortal coil with no roadmap. No signs saying 'stop' or 'turn here' or 'one way.' Quinn was lost. Utterly and completely, and all she could do about it was the little things. Clean Rachel's tub, clean her bathroom, clean the Berry house, take Rachel lunch, weed the garden. They were small things, menial things, maybe things that didn't matter, but they were things that still made sense to Quinn. They were things that had to be done, that she could do. Because she couldn't do any of the rest of it, set in the middle of a forest with paths stretching out on every side of her, paths that led to forks in the road that led to more forks in the road, and the only person alongside her was Rachel, and all Quinn knew was that she didn't want to take any paths that Rachel couldn't go down with her. She had to be with her home, or she'd be truly and completely lost.

Quinn had completely lost one thing - track of time - and she only realized it when she heard the garage door opening. Her mother was coming home. She fled, off her dirt-stained knees and around the corner of the house, flattening herself against the bricks while she listened. The garage door came to a stop and tires turned, flowing up pavement, then came to a stop. The engine rumbled, stopped. And the garage door went down again.

Quinn let loose a breath and pushed off the wall. Her mother was home. She turned, looking for a window, and scaled along to peer inside - no Mom - next one - no Mom - until she found her. Her mother. But she was a different woman. She carried herself not with the grace and pride of a Fabray, of a high society woman, but with the slow, sagging steps of someone who had been asked to endure too much. She shrugged off her coat and purse, hanging both up before she walked out of the window's view, not gliding but dragging. Quinn hurried to the next window, careful of the flower beds.

She watched her mother for a long time, into the evening. Watched as she prepared a TV dinner for herself, not the rich, home cooked meals she used to spend an hour or more perfecting. Watched as she sat at the kitchen counter and picked at the food until it was gone and she rinsed off the plastic in the sink. She didn't wash her fork. Watched as she went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a glass. She took the bottle with her to the living room, where she sat and turned on the TV. And sipped and watched, while Quinn watched her. At one point, early on, she did turn on a lamp and slip on her glasses to do bills, balance her checkbook, but once that was done, the glasses went away and the lamp went off and her face was blank, the way Quinn felt.

By eight o'clock, as Quinn gathered from the clock on the wall after a few squints, her mother had passed out on the couch, but Quinn had the feeling she did this every night. It was a lonely existence, and her mother had never been very good at being alone. She feared it, like Quinn feared small, trapping spaces and alcohol. Still, she wondered on the way back home if it would be kind to reveal herself. The obvious answer was yes, it would be kind, it would be more than kind, that her mother even _needed_ her to come back. But what would it do to her? Would she be able to handle it? Would she drink herself dead, thinking she was crazy? Would she have a stroke, a heart attack? Quinn knew nothing about her health now, but she knew the shock it could cause. She had seen it on Rachel's face.

And what if Quinn's new existence wasn't permanent? What if, in a few days, she was dead again? Like it never happened. She _knew_ her mother couldn't handle _that_. She wasn't even sure Rachel could, and Rachel had less reason to suffer for it. So Quinn was back to research, to finding out what she was, why she was, how she was. She would have to reopen the topic with Rachel, after her overreaction earlier, and find out what she had come up with -

If Quinn made it home.

Someone, or something, was following her. Growling.

It stopped abruptly when she stopped, becoming utterly noiseless. If she hadn't heard it just a moment ago, she would've thought there was nothing there, that she was being paranoid. But she knew what she heard. And she knew what she felt. Watched.

Quinn walked again, down the pavement. It followed. There was no noise, and when she glanced aside, in her peripherals, she saw nothing - but she knew. She ran.

Ran until she saw the lights of the Berry house, until she was in the backyard, until she was inside the backdoor. She stopped and looked outside. It was pure black in the light of the house. Nothing. Nothing except the TV running in the living room - and then Rachel's arms, tight and grasping around her.


	7. VI

**VI**

Rachel's face was pressed so tightly to the middle of Quinn's back she could feel the heat of tears against her shirt, lightly sticking it to her skin. But she didn't turn around just yet, or even set her hands over Rachel's, mindful of how horribly dirty they'd gotten throughout the day between cleaning and gardening. Instead she stared hard into the pitch black night and listened, tried to hear anything at all under the voices and music from the TV. Nothing. Even the feeling was gone, the paranoid itching of being watched - hunted.

So reluctantly, Quinn allowed herself to turn around, almost taking Rachel with her she clung so to her back, but then Rachel seemed to realize, loosening her grip and then staring up at her with big, wet eyes. They weren't the big blobs of tears, the sobbing, painful jolts she had given the night before, but still they left streaks down her cheeks and dipped into the jagged lines of worry around her full mouth. And above the sorrow and the worry were the eyebrows - which were folded with anger.

"Where have you been?" she hissed, leaving a swat on Quinn's arm before her fingers curled into the red shirt. "I got home from the mall hours ago and you said you'd be here and you weren't and I didn't know if you were still mad at me or or you couldn't get back in the house or if you were hurt somewhere or-or-or...just gone! And I couldn't call anybody or you so then I didn't know whether I should look for you or stay put and I've spent the entire evening worrying my head off over you, Quinn Fabray, so you'd better have a damn good explanation for breaking your promise and giving me a stroke!"

All of this was whispered fury - it must've been Rachel's dads watching TV, Quinn guessed, and she had to admit she was a little relieved.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and Rachel was just raring to say 'You'd better be' or something along those lines; Quinn read it in her eyes, in the way she pulled in her breath and glared, but she added, "I went to see my mother."

Instantly, anger disappeared from Rachel's face, doubling worry instead. "You told her? I mean, you saw her?"

"I watched her."

Rachel blinked, uncomprehending. "Oh."

She didn't understand. But of course she didn't. Under normal circumstances, the idea of going to someone's house, even your own house, and watching the occupants for an evening seemed creepy. Odd. Unnatural. And Quinn's behavior was especially suspect to being called upon for being unnatural right now, after what she'd been through. So of course Rachel assumed that if Quinn went to see her mother, she'd walk right up to her and announce her presence, but that was what Rachel would do. And as much as Quinn often admired her fanfarish approach to things, this situation had to be dealt with more delicately than that.

Rachel seemed to be slowly coming to realize this, or something like it - her brow didn't furrow so heavily, and her mouth was more relaxed. She tugged on the collar of Quinn's shirt. "Come on, we'll talk upstairs."

Quinn followed silently, mimicking Rachel's quiet slinking past the basement stairs and up the set to the second floor and Rachel's bedroom. Quinn dug in the sweatpants pockets for the keys and sunglasses she had borrowed once they were safely tucked inside and Rachel was shutting the door, setting both on the vanity table and pulling off the rain boots, thankfully fairly mudless after her long walk back to the Berry house. She found herself trailing to the window, peering out at the darkness. A tingle crept up the back of her neck. She shut the drapes.

"So how did she seem?" Rachel ventured from behind her, on the edge of the bed.

She understood now.

Quinn turned back to her, tension draining from her spine. "She's unhappy."

Rachel's pink tongue slipped across her lip after she bit it too harshly. "She misses you," she said faintly. She was hesitating. Quinn waited. "We all do. It's not right without you."

She tilted her head, curious now. "What isn't?"

Rachel met her eyes, big, bright browns more soulful than ever when she said, "Life."

Quinn grimaced and looked to the window, fiddling with the curtains' edges, making sure it was all the way shut. The darkness, the blackness, was bothersome enough whenever she thought of it, whenever she saw it, but to know it was staring back, to _feel_ it… Rachel was so affectionate. Touching her, hugging her, laying with her, _on_ her. Natural, of course, after Quinn had died and Rachel felt responsible, guessing from her multitude of apologies the previous night. Natural to want to reassure herself that Quinn was really there and she wasn't crazy. Quinn would've thought herself crazy, had the roles been reversed. But she wouldn't have cared.

Even now, a part of her didn't care about Sam or Rachel's relationship with him, budding or not. She'd been dead for three years and she deserved some life. She deserved to touch Rachel's mouth and to see her tremble. She deserved to taste her passion and to feel the sting of her skin's heat. She deserved to hear Rachel sing for her. And these very thoughts were the precise reason she didn't deserve any of them. Because she hadn't changed. Not that she'd had much chance to change while she was dead, but nevertheless - if Rachel had wanted it, wanted her, Sam would be a footnote to her, just like Finn would have been. And Quinn wanted both for Rachel to stop caring and to care more - to go away and to come closer - to hate her and to love her. Just the same as before she was dead.

Although perhaps Quinn wasn't being entirely honest with herself. Right before she'd died, she'd come to terms with the idea of being close but never close enough. She'd wanted to be home, not forever wandering. It had seemed...not easy, but happier at the time. But maybe that was because Rachel was happier at the time. Now her life was being filled with the upheaval of Quinn's return, probably wondering - why not Finn. And a wall was blank.

Quinn found herself staring at it again when Rachel's chin nudged her shoulder, and she was hugging her around the waist again, murmuring, "So are you going to see her?"

"No."

She felt Rachel's surprise, her jaw loosen, before she heard it in her voice. "No?"

Quinn shook her head, glancing to her too-close face, her too-big eyes. "Not yet, anyway." Rachel's breath puffed against her neck. "I need to know more first."

"More about your mom?" Rachel's brow had furrowed.

"About me." Quinn turned carefully to avoid dislodging Rachel too quickly, letting her step back on her own before she faced her fully. Rachel's head was tilted. "You were right before. I need to know why I'm here so I know how long I can expect to last - " Rachel's mouth opened in protest " - and that means looking into what...I am."

"Why wouldn't you last?!" Rachel's eyes were wider than Quinn had ever seen them. "Do you feel like you're-you're fading or-or dying or something? Are you still in pain? Are your hands - oh, my God. What did you _do_ today?!"

Quinn nearly blanched the moment Rachel grabbed onto her fingers to look at her bandages and she opened her mouth, but Rachel was pointing at her immediately.

" _Aside_ from cleaning practically the entire house, which, by the way, is another reason I'm furious at you - for lying to me about resting today! Come here!"

There was no protesting. Rachel gripped her by her fingers and dragged her along to the bathroom, flicking on the light and digging for supplies once they were inside. Quinn leaned herself against the counter while she waited. There was no point in issuing any kind of excuses or reasons, or even speaking at all while Rachel was like this unless she asked. But since she was grumbling to herself and slamming things onto the counter - in the order in which she would need them, at that - Quinn remained silent. Rachel started unwinding the bandages from Quinn's hands once she had everything out, hissing and grimacing once she uncovered the third layer and there were already hints of blood.

"God, what did you _do_?" she hissed, and since Quinn could finally understand the words, she took it as a sign to speak.

"I gardened," she supplied.

Rachel frowned at her, and Quinn could see her resisting the urge to lecture, to tell her what poor judgement she had to do such hand-heavy activities as cleaning the house and gardening when she had two ripped-open hands and how she should take better care of herself. It lit a spark of something within her - amusement, maybe, but it was faint and it didn't last long, and Rachel ultimately only huffed and kept unrolling the thick bandages.

"That explains the dirt, at least. You realize your mom might notice if her flowerbeds suddenly have no weeds but actual flowers?" she muttered unhappily, tossing away the gauze before she winced visibly and started carefully peeling away the pads themselves.

Quinn gritted her teeth together. "I realize."

Rachel was gnawing her lip, scraping her nail against the edges of the blood-soaked cloth. "At least wear gloves next time. I'll get you some from our shed tomorrow - one of my dads' so they'll fit over the bandages."

It hurt too much to pull her teeth apart for even a 'thank you' or an 'okay.' Quinn bit down harder, clenching until her gums ached, distracting from the slow, burning sting of the bandages being pried from her skin. Finally, Rachel had them both off and thrown to the trash bin, leaving Quinn's knuckles free to soak in the fresh, cooling air. Rachel stared at her painfully, her nose wrinkled in a permanent grimace, and stroked her arm up and down, soothing. Quinn didn't dare to even flex her hands - they were wired with pain - but only looked back at Rachel and her sympathy and affection, letting it wash over her.

"I'm sorry I lied about resting. And I'm sorry I broke my promise. It won't happen again," she said carefully, but Rachel snuffed and squeezed her arm.

"Don't make _more_ promises you can't keep, Quinn."

"I'm not." Quinn tilted her head to look deeper at warm brown eyes. "It won't happen again."

Rachel's amusement dropped - she stared back at Quinn's eyes. She believed her. "Okay. Good."

Rachel stroked her arm for a moment more before she turned to get the peroxide, to start cleaning out the wounds now that they had had some time out in the air. Quinn braced herself, binding her teeth together and watching the preparation. She hadn't meant to break her promise in the first place. It had simply been a matter of losing track of time, but it had hurt Rachel nonetheless. It was in her face when she'd said it. 'Breaking your promise.' So it wouldn't happen again.

Quinn couldn't hold back _every_ hiss, whimper, and whine while Rachel cleaned out her wounds and bandaged her up, but it seemed far worse for Rachel in the end. She grimaced every time she even touched Quinn's hands, as if she was stabbing them instead of delicately padding them with a cotton swab. It sparked that feeling again, watching her, that amusement that wanted to come but wouldn't quite. But it was still the most she'd felt like herself since she'd been back, this moment here with Rachel, promising not to hurt her again, simply because she _felt_. Not just sympathy for Rachel's tears or completeness because she was home or anger for whatever reason or nothing at all, the last of which had been the norm whenever she wasn't with Rachel. Wandering before Rachel found her, cleaning the house, gardening, even watching her mother - there was nothing. Just observation. And even at times, with Rachel right next to her, there was the emptiness frighteningly like what Finn and so many others had accused her of when she was alive before.

But not right now. Right now, looking at Rachel, Quinn _felt everything_. Sympathy and want and need and love and complete and home and pain and protective and shame and regret and fear and jealous and possessive and _complete, home, love_. So when Rachel finally taped off her big marshmallow puffed hands again, Quinn hugged her, engulfed her in her embrace and breathed in sunshine until the fear and the jealousy melted away as Rachel hugged her back, pressing her cheek to Quinn's neck, and they stood together, holding on. Quinn wasn't sure how long they stood there, with Rachel breathing down her neck and squeezing her closer now and then, nuzzling her - but when it ended, when there was a knock at Rachel's bedroom door, the feelings drifted away with Rachel, and Quinn stood trying to grasp at them while she spoke to her dads at the door.

Nothing.

#

Something was different. Rachel sensed it instantly, the moment she came back into the bathroom to beckon Quinn out. Her face was blank again and though the same intensity lingered in her sparkling hazel eyes, there was no longer the blazing affection, the kind Rachel had seen before she died a few times. Each time she saw that warm golden gaze, she was filled with light like she'd never felt before, like she was floating and shining under the spotlight of Quinn's eyes - like she was a real star, a supernova. And she blushed and couldn't breathe and she would have to hug Quinn, to touch her. It had been there the moments before Quinn hugged her - the first time she had done so, initiated a hug, contact - and now it was gone, replaced by an empty distance Rachel found jarring. She felt cold.

Still, she had to say something. "Just wanted to say good night…"

Quinn nodded. Rachel hugged herself.

"Um. So, I got you a couple of outfits at the mall and some shoes, but I didn't get a chance to find out your size, so I thought you could try them on and I'll shop more tomorrow. It's just a skirt and blouse, and a t-shirt and pajama pants for tonight, and some tennis shoes. You can borrow my rain boots again for tomorrow if you go garden again and I'll get you some better in-the-dirt shoes then. Okay?" Rachel rubbed her upper arms up and down.

Another nod. "Okay."

She sighed. "Okay. Did you want to try them on now, or…?"

Quinn's head tilted. "Later. I want to know what you found out today first."

"What I found out?"

"You were starting to mention...options for what I am now this afternoon…"

Rachel started, gnawing her lip. "Yes, I...right. But - what makes you think you're not going to-to…?"

It was too painful to say again, even in the vague term of 'last.' It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right. How could the universe give Quinn back to her and then take her away like that? Rachel wouldn't have it. She couldn't have it. She wouldn't make it through losing Quinn again; she _couldn't_.

"Nothing." Quinn shook her head, and Rachel's relief sank through her body. "But I need to know. There's no point in raising a fuss if - "

"I understand." Rachel didn't want to hear her say it. To talk about her own death so casually, _again_. "Well, I sent myself a few links if you want to look at them now…"

Quinn nodded, and they retreated back into the bedroom. Rachel sat at her desk to open up her laptop while Quinn perched on the edge of the bed, waiting. Rachel wished she had a sweater on. Of course, while she was wishing for things, she wished Quinn would look at her like a star again, hold her like a precious thing again. It had felt so immeasurably wonderful to be pressed up against Quinn again, to be held back like before, with no tears this time - just the sensation of total union with Quinn, complete in Quinn's arms.

Rachel almost shook herself when she realized the computer had booted up now, tapping in her password before navigating to her email. She popped open the links all at once before starting with the one she had already eliminated.

"So, like I said this afternoon, there's the bhut, it's a 'restless ghost from Hindu mythology.' It's 'the soul of one who has died a violent death. They take the form of their former selves, but they cast no shadow and smell of burnt turmeric. They haunt and attack the living. It is believed that lying on the ground will protect you from the bhut,'" she read, glancing back at Quinn once she finished. "I think we can safely remove that from our options, since you don't smell and you do have a shadow, so then there's the revenant," she said, xing out of the bhut's page, "which is 'an undead creature that has come back from the dead to haunt the living. They come from European culture and are used as a generic term for zombie-like creatures and vampires. The name comes from the French and Latin word "revenir," meaning "to return." It was believed that the revenant arose in England and came down to travel across the European continent to cause terror. Unlike vampires, the revenant does not kill, nor does it drink blood.'

"It is someone 'who died in great agony and their soul did not go to Hell. Instead, their soul was so tormented and agitated, they came back to earth to either commit revenge to someone who had done them wrong or simply to terrorize people. Those that had successfully claimed revenge would sink into the ground to rest again.' Then there's some stuff about the 12th century and how they would make sure a person was really dead just in case…" She waved a hand.

"I have no one to take revenge on," Quinn said simply.

Rachel hesitated then, turning herself slightly. "Except...maybe the person responsible?"

Quinn's eyes softened. It only brought the guilt bubbling higher in Rachel's throat, to see a weaker version of the glow Quinn had offered her before, to see sympathy on her formerly blank face. She turned abruptly back to the screen.

"Do you know if you were in, um...I mean." She sucked in a breath. "Do you know where you were?"

"Rachel." Quinn's voice was suddenly much closer, and when Rachel glanced back, it was to find her directly at her side. A bandaged hand fell to her shoulder, and then Quinn was crouching down, looking up at her with the same earnestness she had when she promised not to break a promise again. "You're not."

Rachel breathed in deeply, scrabbling for composure, because her eyes were already stinging and Quinn had only said two words. "I am. It was my wedding you were going to, my texts you were answering. I...I pestered you, I rushed you, I...I _killed_ you."

With that, any composure Rachel had managed to keep a handle on was gone. She sobbed, first to nothing and then into her hands, and then into Quinn's shoulder. Quinn's arms had looped up around her, grasping her with that same firm security she had offered not too long ago, and Rachel sank into it with relief, grabbed for more of it around Quinn's neck. It wasn't long before she was in Quinn's lap on the floor, being rocked back and forth, back and forth, while Quinn pet her hair. Her bandages occasionally caught in a tendril or two, snagging and tugging at Rachel's scalp, but Quinn carefully untangled herself and kept tenderly stroking, with endless patience.

Which was fortunate, because Rachel thought she'd never stop crying. Her sides ached, especially in her ribs, stinging every time she hiccupped; her eyes felt burnt and her face was unpleasantly hot. In short, she was a mess. But she felt like a doll in Quinn's arms, precious, protected. Between the gently stroking fingers and the easy swaying, Rachel thought she might fall asleep like this, like she might want to fall asleep like this always, only without the crying - just in Quinn's arms, keeping her safe and whole.

"Shhh, you didn't," Quinn was murmuring, and Rachel realized she'd been repeating the same phrase over and over and over again, a broken record stuck on 'I killed you.' "Shhh. _You're not alone, together we stand, I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand._ "

Rachel fisted Quinn's hair and her shirt and cried for all she was worth.

#

Rachel fell asleep in Quinn's arms, not long after she'd finished the song. She hadn't known if singing would work to calm Rachel down - her tears were almost more frantic than the night before, when Quinn had recognized her fully, said her name. But Quinn had felt again, and singing had felt like the right thing to do, and it had soothed Rachel to sleep. Quinn held her there on the floor for a while, until Rachel started to shift and squirm from too much discomfort, and then Quinn had managed to maneuver her up onto the bed, tucking her under the covers and making sure she was comfortable and warm before she sat in front of Rachel's laptop.

Quinn knew what Rachel's advice would be, to leave it for tomorrow and to rest, sleep until then. But sleep was still one of the least appealing things Quinn could think of at the moment. Just the idea of closing her eyes for longer than it took to blink - it sent the sting of a tingle straight up her spine all over again. So despite her initial urge to curl around Rachel and simply lie there with her like the night before, she went to the desk, to where Rachel had left off telling her about the options she had explored. There were only two more, and next on the line of tabs was the tash - Quinn vaguely remembered Rachel mentioning the name before she'd cut her off earlier.

'The Irish word for a ghost. They appear in the form of a human, animal or insect. Many are seen as insects, birds and horses. All the tash were once living creatures that died a violent death. If a person who died a violent death was mourned for too long it was believed that they will not enter the Otherworld but remain in this world as a tash.'

There was the idea of a ghost again. But Quinn wasn't a ghost. Unless ghosts worked differently than they all thought and were, in fact, corporeal, but wasn't that entirely against the idea of a ghost? Quinn could only assume Rachel had picked them out for the same reasons she had selected a soy cream cheese and grape sandwich for her lunch - exhaustion. She was sleeping quite well as a result, burrowed into her covers and occasionally letting loose the occasional snore between soft tufts of breath from her barely parted lips.

Quinn closed the page to the last option Rachel had found that day, the aos si. Another one of Celtic origin, like the tash, but these weren't ghosts. They were fairies. Undead fairies. Quinn quirked her eyebrow reflexively, but read anyway, 'The aos si were believed to be the descendants of the pre-Celtic inhabitants of Ireland and are powerful supernatural creatures. They are often referred to as the Kings and Queens of the Fairies. Unlike modern day depictions of fairies, the aos si are not small in size nor do they have wings. The name sidhe means "mounds" and the name aos si means "people of the mounds." So these beings should correctly be called aos si rather than sidhe.

'Generally the aos si are tall people with a sweet sounding voice. They wear fine exquisite clothes and live in palaces decorated with sumptuous food and drink. They are either very beautiful or extremely hideous. Some say that they are transparent beings that move across the earth without leaving a trace. They are said to be the descendants of the Tuatha De Danann who settled in Ireland many millennia ago. The Milesians who arrived in Ireland after the Tuatha De Danann, said that these people were "gods but not gods" and described them as a mix of humans and gods due to their wisdom and knowledge. When the Milesian fought and defeated the Tuatha De Danann, The Tuatha De Dannan surrendered and said that they would dig into the burrows and hills and live there. Over time the Tuatha De Dannan became the aos si. Each proud leader of the Tuatha De Dannan were given one mound. Each one would be the King or Queen of the mound and would play beautiful music from there. They frequently had battles and fought with their neighbours.

'It is believed that although they live in the mounds, they live in a world that is not our own, a parallel universe in which the aos si walk amongst the living. They can move very quickly through air and transform into whatever they like. They are like guardian angels who give protection to certain mortals and help to heal them and teach them new skills. They aid people in battle and fight with a blue flame upon their lances and pure white shields.

'Aos si are given offerings of milk and butter so that the aos si will be gentle and kind. It was not wise to incur the wrath of such creatures. They tend to become angered by foolish actions of mortals. They are fierce guardians of their abodes in the fairy hills or in a tree or lake. Some say that when the host of the aos si arrives there is a sound of humming like a swarm of bees passing by. They are like nature spirits guarding their special places.'

Quinn sat back and stared at the screen. Undead fairies that lived in mounds in a parallel universe. It seemed less and less likely as Quinn read on, and she couldn't put her finger on why Rachel would add this one as an option, either. Aside from her exhaustion. And Rachel had said there had been a _lot_ of options. Perhaps she had been adding them out of desperation. But there was no asking Rachel, for now. She needed her rest. It had been a long couple of nights for her with many tears and little sleep. Quinn felt a prickling of something again, looking at Rachel lying there so peacefully. Yearning.

There had to be something else. Quinn swallowed down prickling and turned back to the laptop, navigating to the 'undead' attribute and its 123 options. Not including alternative names. It was going to be another long night for her, too.


	8. VII

**VII**

The sun tickled Rachel's eyelashes awake, warming her eyelids and teasing light into the darkness of dreams. Though fortunately, tonight, she had been so tired she slept through her dreams, too. She couldn't remember a bit of them, if she'd even had any, and so she woke with a smile and a stretch, popping her knees under the covers, only to lose the smile when she glanced over to see Quinn hunched in front of her laptop, still in her red shirt and now grass-stained sweatpants, eyes darting back and forth over the screen illuminating her pale face with a faintly bluish tint. But Rachel could still see the circles under her eyes.

Rachel pushed herself up onto her elbow, kicking blankets away from her legs. "Have you been up all night?"

If she'd been expecting a jump, she was sorely disappointed. Quinn peered back at her neutrally. The blankness was back, and Rachel wished she didn't have to get out of bed so she could snuggle under the covers again. Instead, she forced herself up to stand behind Quinn and take a quick peek at the screen - she was looking at a page about 'nightmares.'

"Yeah," Quinn said shortly, and then xed out of the page, supplying, "Undead horses."

Rachel had to pause at that. "What?"

"Nightmares."

"Oh." Night _mares_. Rachel smiled reflexively. "Do you think you're an undead horse?"

Quinn tilted her head back up at her, and for a moment, she looked like she might smile. Her eyebrow curved upward in that familiar way, and lines briefly appeared at the corners of her full lips. But then she just maintained the eyebrow and shook her head.

"I'm looking at everything."

Rachel nodded her understanding. It was a little bit strange, Quinn's massive turnaround on the subject. She'd gone from defensive to voracious for knowledge, the way Rachel had thought she'd be in the first place, and she'd had difficulty pinpointing what might have changed her mind between lunch and the evening. It was only Quinn's explanation that there was 'no need to raise a fuss' if she was wasn't going to 'last' that offered Rachel a clue. She didn't want to take any major steps like showing herself to her mother, or their friends, if she was simply going to waste away again in three days. Or in four, on the actual anniversary of her death.

So Quinn was hitting pause on the idea of taking any steps at all, even baby ones. And as much as Rachel didn't like to think about it, she understood. Once again, she found herself choked by the idea of getting Quinn back only to lose her all over again, and she knew Judy Fabray would likely feel the same way, if she knew. Not to mention all their friends… Quinn was simply trying to minimize the damage. So no steps until they knew for sure if she was going to live for good now. The problem then became finding anything out at all.

Quinn didn't look particularly pleased this morning - although she hardly ever looked truly pleased, but Rachel assumed success would have led to at least a slightly more chipper countenance - so even after a night of searching, she must've had about as much success as Rachel had had. Maybe a few options, but nothing that really seemed to match. Of course, they had only looked on the internet, which wasn't always entirely accurate. Hell, who even knew if there was _any_ accurate source on the supernatural in existence? And even if there was, where would Quinn and Rachel look? They weren't exactly hooked in to the supernatural world, if it existed, so they had exactly zilch in the way of accurate sources or finding them.

Things were looking bleaker and bleaker on this front, so much so that Rachel was almost looking forward to seeing their friends and hiding Quinn from them. At least she knew what she was doing there; at least she had a reachable goal.

"Besides, it's no less plausible than your finds," Quinn said suddenly, and Rachel straightened, affronted.

She poked out her bottom lip. "Hey. Mine were all humanoid."

"Undead fairies?" Quinn stared at her. Her eyebrow had popped up again.

Rachel folded her arms. "They fit somewhat. You're tall - "

"Er than you."

She puffed, jaw dropping. "For people who lived millennia ago, you're tall, _and_ you have the sweetest voice in the world. _And_ you always dressed exquisitely and you practically lived in a palace, _and_ you're the smartest person I know - in other words, both wise and knowledgeable, and...well, on the 'either very beautiful or extremely hideous' point, you are...on the very beautiful side of things." She nodded to herself in confirmation, resettling a foot just for emphasis.

Quinn hardly blinked. "But I don't live in a mound, I'm not in a parallel universe - I don't think - and you haven't mentioned anything about swarms of bees passing by when I arrive, so I don't think that's it."

Rachel pursed her lips. Quinn had a point, of course. Not everything fit. But then…

"Well, how do we even know if these websites are accurate? Maybe some things are tweaked from original legends, or...I mean, like vampires. They didn't originally sparkle in the sun, or have a choice in being evil or good, but someone came up with the idea to tweak the myth, and it happens more and more through time until you have...you know, Twilight."

Quinn seemed to consider this for a moment before she turned back to the screen. "Maybe. They're all we have to go on, though." One of her fingers tapped against the keys, and her head tilted, sweeping blonde across the back of her neck. "Unless…"

Rachel waited, digging at her bottom lip to keep from pushing - it seemed Quinn was in the middle of a thought, still developing. Her brow furrowed in concentration, finger tapping. But after a few moments of resisting the urge to start petting her hair and chewing her lip off, Rachel couldn't quite contain herself any longer.

"Unless what?"

Quinn paused, fingers hovering over the trackpad now. "Well, people have to create these sites. Whether the information is accurate or not, it's all contributions from people. And _some of them_ have to know what they're talking about. Right?" She peered up at Rachel then, eyes swirling with thought.

It took Rachel a moment to gather herself. "Well, right, I guess?"

"So what we need is one of those people." She opened up Google.

Rachel almost hopped in realization, settling her hands on Quinn's shoulders. "Oh! So what, do we email one of the site creators or-or contributors, or - "

Quinn shook her head, typing in 'Lima, OH supernatural expert.' "No, we need someone local, someone who can see the situation, see me."

"Oh, what about Tina?" Rachel tapped on Quinn's shoulder in excitement. "She believes in that stuff! Or, well, she believed Twilight was real for a while, anyway."

"No, we need someone who _knows_ , not just believes."

Quinn was scrolling too quickly for Rachel to see much, but she squeezed her shoulders in encouragement and petted the silky ends of her golden hair between her thumb and fingers admiringly. Quinn was brilliant. Quinn was genius. Rachel might never have thought of finding someone, someone who knew what they were talking about. She would have exhausted every last source she could find on the internet before she would've come to the realization that they couldn't be the only ones - she and Quinn couldn't be the only ones who had ever experienced or knew about the supernatural and its existence. How could they be? To think so would be ridiculous. There had to be others.

Of course, if there were others, if there was this whole subworld that none of them even knew about - except they did know about it. They just didn't believe in it. They were just myths. Vampires, zombies, werewolves, witches, warlocks, wizards - they had names for all those things, they had ideas about them, but they didn't believe any of it was true. Except for the subset who did, the subset of people everyone else thought was crazy, like...people who believed in witchcraft, who called themselves witches. But what if they really were then? Why not? If Quinn came back from the dead after three years, why couldn't witches be real? Why not magic?

And if it was real, then those kitschy places Rachel and everyone else saw now and then, the little shops with crystal balls and incense - maybe they sold real magical items, too. And maybe those people knew about resurrections and undead creatures and how long they lasted and what one might do to prevent them from re-dying.

Quinn didn't seem to be having much luck. Her shoulder was tense under Rachel's hand, and she kneaded a little more firmly, petted her hair away from her ear.

"What about...magic shops?"

Quinn stopped scrolling, stopped typing, stopped everything. For a moment, Rachel was afraid she was going to have to explain everything, her whole thought process, and that she would come out sounding crazy or strange to Quinn. But then Quinn cleared out the space bar and typed in 'Lima, OH magic shops.'

And before she even hit the search bar, she said, "You're brilliant, Rachel. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Rachel's flush traveled all the way up from her neck to the crown of her head, but the bubbling of flattery didn't last long. There were no shops in Lima. None. Not that Rachel should've been surprised. She'd never seen any around, but Lima wasn't exactly the teeny tiny town she and her friends liked to say. It wasn't as big as, say, New York City, but there were hidden parts, parts Rachel had never explored, and she had hoped some of those parts might contain what she and Quinn were looking for. Nothing in Lima.

But, a few of Google's red tickers showed up in other parts of Ohio. Nothing closer than Columbus, where there was only one, but there were several in Cleveland. Seven, overall, it looked like. Most of them didn't have websites - the one in Columbus didn't - but there were three in Cleveland that did, and Quinn opened them up one at a time. The first was right on the docks of Lake Erie, judging from the picture of the store serving as the website banner, which wasn't particularly attractive. There was no sign to indicate the name of it, or even that it was a magic shop at all, and the second floor windows were boarded up with wood. Quinn swiftly moved on to the next one. This one was closer to Akron, on the south side of Cleveland, and while it was at least less suspicious looking than the last, with a big sign out front of a colorful building, it seemed to be targeted toward one particular audience, judging from the name: Love Potions No. 1-9.

The last one was closer to Lima, on the North Olmsted side, and though it was less friendly looking than Love Potions No. 1-9, it had no boarded up windows and a sign in the window indicating the name, One Stop Witch Shop. There was a little information beneath the picture, too, aside from poorly constructed puns about magic and love like the previous two, indicating that they sold everything from ancient mystical texts to newt eyes. It even had a special online orders section, which recommended purchases of mummy parts be done that way.

"This looks like our best bet," Quinn said at length, leaning back in the chair, so Rachel set both hands into her hair, stroking it from her face.

"No kidding." Still, she grimaced. "I don't want to go to Cleveland."

Quinn's head shook between her hands. "You don't have to."

"Uh huh, and how are you going to get there by yourself? Even if you could get past being terrified of automobiles within a day… You don't have a license anymore - technically - so you can't drive; you don't have any money, so you can't take a bus or a train, and...I won't let you go alone." Rachel dropped her arms around Quinn's neck, hugging onto her and nuzzling into her hair.

Quinn's bandaged hands came up to her forearms, holding there while Rachel smiled and breathed her in, coming up cinnamon apple pie from thick blonde hair that felt so smooth against Rachel's cheek she could've burrowed there forever. She loved it. It was like touching gold, so rare and precious and she never wanted it to end. Unfortunately, the universe had other things in mind. Her wake-up alarm went off.

Reluctantly, Rachel peeled herself away to shut it off and head to the closet for clothes and her morning shower, commenting over her shoulder, "We can go tomorrow; it's a Saturday, so, no glee. Oh! Are you planning on going back and gardening more today?"

"Yes."

Rachel smiled, turning back to Quinn with a dress in hand. "Then I'll walk with you there and get my car this morning, and then I can pick you up after glee."

Quinn shook her head. "I want to stay again."

She paused. Of course she did. Rachel couldn't possibly think Quinn could've gotten enough of seeing her mother for just one night. She'd been dead for three years. Seeing her mother must've been like...coming home after a long stay detained - trapped - in some foreign place. And Rachel felt like she was still the most selfish person in the world, like she hadn't changed a bit since high school, because she was jealous.

But she only - forced herself - to say, "Okay," and went off to her dresser to pull out some underclothing.

#

Rachel seemed far less upset when she left Quinn at her front gate than when she had gone into the shower earlier. She'd spent the rest of the morning afterward in glum silence, picking at her breakfast fruit bowl after she scoped out the downstairs to be sure her fathers were at work and, of course, offered to make Quinn something. She still wasn't hungry. Then they walked to her house, after Rachel gave her a key to the house to keep, but even when Quinn told her she'd gotten the right sizes on the clothes and dipped her sunglasses at her, Rachel only nodded and smiled a little. So Quinn hugged her, before she got in her car to head off to work, and promised she would be back by eight o'clock, and then Rachel smiled brightly up at her, gave her another squeeze, and left with a bounce in her step.

Quinn could only make guesses about what had upset her, mainly sticking to what had changed her mood in the first place - the mention of Quinn staying late at her house again. It wasn't that Quinn intended on revealing herself to her mother yet. No, she was still completely set on knowing if she could expect to live past next week before she did that. Nor did she particularly relish spending time away from Rachel, and it seemed, from her reaction, Rachel felt the same way. Likely for different reasons, of course. She seemed convinced that Quinn was going to leave, either through death or simply being aggravated with Rachel, judging from her reaction to Quinn walking away at lunch and to her return yesterday evening. It was a natural fear, Quinn supposed, if anything was natural about the situation. Of course Rachel worried she was going to up and disappear, after dying unexpectedly, and then returning even more unexpectedly.

But she wouldn't, not if she could help it. Quinn couldn't even if she'd wanted to, and she didn't, particularly. Having Rachel's attention and affection again, while torturous, emotionally splitting, and generally difficult to restrain herself in reaction to, was heaven. When she felt, she felt it strongly, felt her breath picking up when Rachel rubbed her shoulders, felt a purr coming on when Rachel played with her hair, felt her heart straining to burst from her chest when Rachel hugged and nuzzled her. She felt love. Overwhelming and consuming as it had been three years ago, and she needed a break from it. She needed distance, just as much as she needed Rachel with her in figuring out the mess her unlife was.

So Quinn would stay at her mother's again, for the day. Rachel, true to her word, had retrieved one of her dads' gardening gloves, as well as a few tools and a watering can, and Quinn kneeled next to the flower beds and got to work with small pruning shears and a garden rake. She worked all day, pulling weeds, trimming dead leaves, and watering - and even worked on the hedges, so that by the time her mother pulled into the driveway around five in the evening, the flower beds were almost presentable, aside from the glaring lack of flowers in them, and the hedges were closer to resembling their formerly neatly kept squared shape. But she didn't seem to notice. She didn't even look out the windows once all evening.

As a matter of fact, her mother did much the same thing as she had the previous night. She made herself a TV dinner, rinsed out the plastic dish once she'd finished, poured herself a glass of liquor, and sat in front of the TV with it and the bottle. There was no bill writing or checkbook balancing tonight, though. Only the blank stare at the TV, and Quinn was sure that later she fell asleep in front of it, but when the hands hit 7:30, she started the walk back home.

Soon. Soon she could reveal herself to her mother, and maybe then she would start the healing process over again. The process she'd started when she kicked Russell out. She still hadn't been the best mother in the world after that, of course. Kicking him out and inviting Quinn back in had only been a start, and there had been so many bumps, between allowing absolutely nothing over that first summer, when she'd had Quinn 'rehabilitated' with church groups and talks and troubled teen sessions, and allowing everything the next, when she'd ignored every behavior, every cry for attention, right down to dying her hair hot pink and joining a group of girls called the Skanks. But at least she'd been trying. Not like now, sitting empty, filling herself with alcohol every night.

And a part of Quinn very much wanted to help her, but she had to know if she could first, in a lasting sense. She and Rachel had made good headway toward figuring that out today. Now to wait for tomorrow and a trip to Cleveland, and maybe they'd get some real, solid answers at last. If, of course, Quinn could bring herself to get in the car to go. And if she could get her head to wrap around this idea that all this supernatural, occult nonsense was real and true. It was difficult enough to accept that she'd died and now she was alive three years later, and she remembered that - dying. And obviously she was alive now. And whenever she started to wonder, to think maybe it was a hallucination brought on by the last moments of death or whatever, she knew it was real when Rachel touched her, or simply smiled at her.

But to accept that and the rest, too? She'd been forced to contemplate the idea that the undead were real, that all these ridiculous creatures could exist, but now they were entertaining the idea of magic. Actual Harry Potter, black cauldrons and newt eyes, double double toil and trouble _magic_. It was beyond her capacity for whimsy.

Although she was finding it impossible not to open herself up to those kinds of ideas when she felt something following her. Again.

The now almost familiar prickle had gone up the back of her neck, snatching her attention with its sharpness, but this time Quinn kept walking. Same steady gait down the sidewalk, past house after house. It would hardly help to call out at the moment - whatever it was would just flee, and that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to see it.

But every glance cast to her peripherals gave her nothing, no clues. Everything lit by the streetlights was normal. Just sidewalk, with the occasional leaf skittering across the pavement. Whatever it was must've been using the shadows to its advantage. And it was dead silent.

Quinn turned a corner - she could get back on track soon enough, but the street she went down had fewer lights, fewer houses. Trees bowed closer to the road, and when she found one that hung low enough, she jumped. It might not have been the wisest decision, with the condition her hands were in, but it was the best idea she had. So she pulled herself up, onto the branch and then one higher for good measure, and there she waited.

The breeze wafted through the trees, rattling leaves together, and a car went by down another street - Quinn tensed. There was nothing, and for a moment she thought she had jumped into a tree and possibly ripped open her hands again - the pain was intense enough - for nothing.

But then a shadow moved.

Just to her right, under cover of the brush, and it was moving closer. Closer. The prickling on the back of Quinn's neck grew almost unbearable, but she didn't dare move to itch it. It passed directly beneath her tree, and then it stepped onto the sidewalk and stopped to sniff.

Stuck its snout straight to the pavement and then straight to the air and sniffed.

It was a dog.

At least, that was the shape of it, like a Newfoundland or a St. Bernard. Bulky like that, with the tail curled over its back like a husky. But bigger. Much, much bigger. The size of a young cow. And its fur was long and thick and blacker than a starless night, but with an oddly green sheen that rippled across its body every time it moved.

It sniffed again, long and deep.

And then it looked up.

It grinned at her, with a full set of long, sharp fangs.

Quinn was certain she wasn't high enough in the tree. She should've climbed up a few more branches - should have run home like she had the night before, because this thing was big enough to lunge up and take her down from where she stood, and no amount of holding onto the branch next to her was going to stop it.

But it didn't. Instead, it shook its big, woolly head and maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe _all of it_ was a hallucination, but Quinn...heard something. A rasping. It sounded like 'soon.'

And then it turned back into the trees, into the brush, and it must've been something else. The thing had just groaned, or it was a trick of the wind, whispering things in her ear. Or it was the sound of a car passing by down the other street, the tires rolling over pavement.

Still, Quinn waited, until she had seen nothing move below her or in the bush or trees for some time, and then she jumped down and ran for home.


	9. VIII

**VIII**

It had been a long day. After Quinn managed to cheer her up from her bout of jealousy and self-deprecation over said jealousy with those bright eyes and a warm hug, Rachel had gone ahead into the day with a mostly false sense of optimism, because from the moment she arrived at McKinley High, Murphy's Law set in and didn't let up until she left. Between the minor problems - coffee spills (she now owed Mr. Schuester a new tie and shirt), dropping everything, impaling her thigh on the corners of every desk she passed - there were several major ones to deal with.

Kurt was supposed to take charge of the lesson for the afternoon glee club meeting, but the caterer he and Brittany had lined up for the double wedding fell through, which at the very least would have left Rachel without the guilt of hiding something _huge_ from her best friend for another day, except Santana took his place in helping out for the day. So Rachel spent most of the morning in the bathroom trying to escape her, the stomach twisting fear of blurting out everything to her, and the guilt gripping unyieldingly to her throat. Whether it was guilt for not telling, or guilt about wanting to tell without Quinn's permission, Rachel wasn't entirely sure, but she had to quit hiding halfway through the day anyway after Mr. Schuester started asking after her health and talking about hernias.

Then, at least, it was time for lunch, but the break Rachel had been expecting didn't come. Primarily because she had forgotten to even pack herself a lunch today, so when Sam came offering to take her out again, she had little choice but to accept. She spent the entirety of their time at Breadstix drumming the eponymous breadsticks or her fingers on the table and glancing at the clock while he talked about Spiderman, Marvel, and the Avengers and asked if she was okay. She wasn't, particularly, but she just smiled and nodded each time he asked and then picked at the table cloth again when he started up once more about things she didn't know or especially care about.

It was almost worse with Sam than it was with Santana. For one thing, although Santana respected Quinn in life and they claimed to be friends when they weren't stabbing each other in the back, they had never seemed particularly close to Rachel. They hung out because they had similar interests, but when they weren't cheerleading or weren't on the squad, they tended to split off - Quinn to her corner with her book, and Santana with Brittany, the other third of their 'Unholy Trinity.' Or at least, Rachel tried to comfort herself with these thoughts, because truthfully, she didn't really know what their friendship was like or where it came from - it was all part of Quinn being magnificently closed off and Santana more or less hating Rachel.

But she knew how Sam had felt about Quinn, and she knew how he felt about _her_ now. Regardless of how Quinn had felt about Sam, Rachel knew he'd truly loved her. It was all over his face, every time he looked at her, like she was the sun of his world, a real goddess. And though he didn't love Rachel now - yet - he cared, and he deserved to know all the more because he did. And because Rachel cared about Quinn.

Of course, Rachel cared about Sam, too. He was sweet. He was brave and even kind of righteous. He'd stood up for Kurt against bullies, taken a black eye for him, and he wasn't afraid to be best friends with Blaine, a gay boy. And he was supportive. He wanted Rachel to go to New York, to pursue her destiny, even if that meant their relationship couldn't go anywhere. He was a genuinely good man and Rachel couldn't deny a certain amount of attraction to him - he was attractive, after all. And it was simple and easy with him. He liked her, so he kissed her, he was courteous to her, he asked her out - he did all the things a guy was supposed to do when they liked a girl.

But then there was Quinn. Occasionally vicious and morally ambiguous, and... _complicated_. There were so many words for Quinn Fabray; it didn't seem possible for one person to have so many contradictory traits. And Rachel was more than attracted to her - she was _drawn_ to her. If possible, even more so since Quinn was back. She wanted to always be around her, with her, even if all Quinn did was stare blankly back at her. It was worth it for the moments when Quinn would light up and stare at Rachel until she was floating, flying, the brightest star in the sky. For when she opened up and wrapped Rachel in the warmth of her true self, no masks, no games, no walls - just Quinn, the sweetest, strongest, most supportive, loving person Rachel had ever had the privilege of knowing, even if only for a few minutes in a bathroom, wiping her tears away or hugging her in congratulations.

Quinn hadn't opened up like that since she'd been back. There had been the moments when Rachel thought she might, when she looked at her so warmly, hugged her, held her, but then it never went any further. But it had only been two days since Quinn had been back and maybe with time…

Rachel tried to remind herself that it wouldn't matter - didn't matter - anyway, because Quinn had adored her, or she liked to think Quinn did, as a friend when she was last alive. But nothing more, and so although Sam still deserved to know, it wasn't quite the big deal she was making it out to be. This line of thinking almost worked, at least, enough that she could peck Sam back when he kissed her upon dropping her off outside the school, and then the guilt of not telling Santana returned and the major problems continued when, during glee, one of the boys decided it would be perfectly fine and appropriate to sing the non-radio edit of Lonely by Akon - and Coach Sylvester overheard. It took a little over two hours to settle _that_ little disaster.

By that time, Rachel wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up with a blanket, Quinn, and Funny Girl, but she had promised to buy Quinn a proper wardrobe, so it was off to the mall first. It was difficult, buying for Quinn. Now that she knew she had the right sizing, some of the pressure was alleviated, but there was still the question of whether Quinn would even like what she bought, so Rachel spent more time mulling over her purchases than actually picking anything out and it was another couple of hours before she arrived home for dinner with her father downstairs - another person she was not only lying to, but sneaking Quinn around.

So all in all, it was more than a relief to hear the back door open and shut around eight o'clock, just under the wire - it was a blessing, and Rachel was quick to hop up and kiss her father on the cheek and left him to catch up on his shows on the DVR. Quinn was waiting just inside, setting the mucky rain boots on the mat - but she'd changed again. There was no affection in her eyes, no warmth in her face. It was just blank, and Rachel hugged her sweater duster tighter around herself before curling her fingers at Quinn and marching up the stairs to the privacy of her bedroom. She shut the door after Quinn stepped past her and then immediately trotted to the bed where she'd set her shopping bags.

"I got you a bunch more from the mall today. I'll take back whatever you don't like, but there's sleep clothes and day clothes and hiking boots for your gardening - I got you your own big sized gardening gloves and ones in a smaller size for when your hands heal, too, and - where's the tools and the watering can?" she realized, glancing over Quinn's empty hands and equally empty stare down at the shopping bags.

After a moment, at least, she frowned. "I must've left them by the...hose. I'll get them tomorrow."

"We're going to Cleveland tomorrow," Rachel tried, but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Quinn traveled to the window, staring out at the dark neighborhood. She sighed. "It'll have to wait until Sunday, but it's okay - we don't actually do a lot of gardening around here anyway. Mostly in the summer, when my dads'd decide we should try growing our own vegetables for like a month and then forget all about it after we'd go on vacation or...whatever." Quinn hadn't even turned around. "So how did your mom seem today?"

"The same."

Rachel wrung her hands and, for lack of anything better to do, started pulling the outfits from the bags, laying them out on the bed. "I'm sorry."

Quinn didn't say anything this time, just stared out that window, and once Rachel finished laying out the clothes from both shopping trips, she couldn't stand it anymore. She strode over to look out with her - but there was nothing happening. Lights were on in their neighbors' houses, shadows moving in their windows at times, and cars occasionally passed by. The breeze sent the trees swaying. But it was nothing unusual. Rachel peered up at Quinn and turned, reaching hesitantly after a moment to hug her - but Quinn almost immediately raised her own hands to block her.

"No, I stink." She stepped back, snuffing at the shirt, and the pain in Rachel's chest eased off upon hearing the explanation.

"Well, you can take a shower, if you want…" She gestured toward the bathroom.

Quinn only raised her bandaged hands pointedly then, and Rachel flushed. Right. Quinn could type and manage her fingers much better since that first night, but her hands still weren't healed and it made complex motions like holding onto things difficult, especially when she could only use one at a time. She had even been carrying Rachel's lunch bag in both hands, now that she thought about it.

Rachel gnawed her bottom lip before she stepped forward next to Quinn, where she was looking down at the blue denim dress Rachel had purchased. "Well, I can help you again…"

Quinn stared at her instantly, and the heat in Rachel's cheeks intensified.

"It-it can be a bath this time, and we'll fill it up with bubble bath solution so-so I can't see anything, but I'll...I'll be your hands." She dug into her lip through a smile, not sure if she was going for reassuring or if she was only smiling out of nerves, because Quinn was just penetrating her with that intent hazel gaze, perfectly silent and still.

But then she took a breath and said, "Okay," and looked back down to the dress.

Rachel's heart leapt straight into her ears. They were practically throbbing with the rush of blood, and she had to turn away before Quinn saw how incredibly red she was. It hadn't been this way the first night - but then the first night, it _had_ to be done and Rachel was still in shock over everything and Quinn had still been nonverbal. Now she was talking, and it was _planned_. But it had been Rachel's suggestion, so despite the rush of heat through her entire body - it was difficult to differentiate between embarrassment and arousal at the moment - she went off to the bathroom to get the water running and the bubble bath solution mixed in. Once the water itself was nearing the brim of the tub and the entirety of its surface was covered in a thick layer of foam and bubbles, Rachel turned off the faucet and peeked out at Quinn, who was surveying one of the tennis shoes.

"Bath's ready," she squeaked.

Quinn hardly reacted - she seemed more stone-like than ever, if anything - and set the shoe back in its box before passing into the bathroom.

"Just call me when you're ready."

When Quinn nodded, Rachel pulled the door shut behind her and paced, comforting herself with the fact that at least this time she didn't have to help Quinn out of her clothes. Presumably, Quinn had picked that shirt and those sweatpants because they were easy to get in and out of, and Rachel probably should have thought of that while she was buying the new clothes, all of which seemed suddenly very inappropriate. Before Rachel could head into a panic and stuff them all back in their bags to be taken back, Quinn called quietly, "Ready," and she braced herself before stepping back in.

Quinn had set the borrowed clothes on the counter, as neatly as she could without folding them, it seemed, and there she was - neck deep in bubbles, arms along the sides of the tub, pink knees poking out of the hot water, and even in the bright, almost fluorescent lighting of Rachel's bathroom and with a blank expression, Quinn looked terribly, wonderfully delicious. Rachel pushed the door shut just to give herself another moment before she went to the side of the tub, pulling the bath rug closer to the edge to cushion her knees and grabbing for the shampoo bottle first, once she'd wetted her hands.

"Get your hair wet?"

Her voice came out as barely a whisper, but Quinn sucked in a breath and went under, her feet bracing on the wall before she sat up again and angled herself for Rachel to access her short hair a bit easier. At first, she hardly moved, staying still as a statue while Rachel scrubbed her scalp and curled her fingers through her hair, but the longer she was at it, the more relaxed Quinn seemed to get, until she was practically laying with her head back and purring, and Rachel smiled to herself, drawing it out for as long as she felt she could get away with it.

Once she was finished with that, Rachel grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet and soaped it up while Quinn adjusted to sit up and lean forward, allowing Rachel access to her back. Her pale, muscled, wet back, with droplets of water curving around the sharp edges of her shoulder blades and the faint ridge of her spine jutting out just below them. Rachel could barely keep herself from leaning forward to lick the small bumps, so it was no surprise to her when she traced one or two with her fingers, only realizing when Quinn shivered. She was quick to scrub with the washcloth instead, trapping her misbehaving hand between her knees. She needed a distraction badly, but Quinn, as per usual, wasn't talking.

"Quinn?" she ventured. The blonde head turned, just enough so that Rachel could see one ear listening. "Maybe this isn't the best time, but...we haven't had much of a chance to talk…"

"Rachel? All we've done is talk," Quinn said flatly, and Rachel flushed.

"About what could be going on and about what happened here while you were gone, yes, but…" Rachel hesitated, nipping her lip. "What about you?"

Quinn shifted, sloshing a bit of water near the edges. "What about me?"

"Well, where were you? I mean, how long was it for you?"

Her head shook. "I don't know."

"So there's nothing between...the crash and when you...when you woke up and…" Rachel swallowed, slowing her scrubbing.

Quinn sighed. "Not nothing. I know there was something. But I don't know where or how long."

"Oh." She swept the few longer strands of hair from the back of Quinn's neck, holding them aside so she could clean up behind her ears and around her hairline again. "Well, what about everything I told you?" When she was silent, Rachel clarified, "About Finn and...Noah, Santana and Brittany, Kurt and Blaine, me and-and Sam and...just everything."

"What about it?"

Rachel's jaw loosened a bit. "Nothing, I guess...I just thought maybe you'd like to talk about it. Or even about what happened to you or…"

Quinn's head turned a bit more, so Rachel could see a hazel eye and a raised eyebrow. "What is there to say about it?"

Rachel nearly dropped the washcloth in the water, but just barely caught onto it - and stared at Quinn's profile. "Oh, I don't know, maybe...how you _feel_ about it?"

The eyebrow went higher. "How I feel?"

She frowned. "Yes, how you feel, like humans do sometimes?"

Quinn's head turned straight forward again and Rachel's throat instantly bubbled with regret. She pushed herself up, forward, to hold onto Quinn's shoulders and try to peek at her face again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Rachel breathed, squeezing her tightly. "Quinn? It's just...you haven't talked to me. Not really. Not since you've been back, and I know you say you're not angry at me and that I wasn't responsible for the crash, but - "

"Because you're not," Quinn cut in, and finally Rachel got a good look at her eyes - slowly brightening. "And I'm _not_ angry at you."

Rachel smiled a little. "Well, I'm glad. But I don't just want to know that you don't blame me."

Quinn's wet head rested back against her shoulder and she breathed, "What do you want to know?"

She leaned her cheek against golden, dripping hair, closing her eyes. "I don't want to pry it out of you like this. But I want to be there for you. The way you've been there for me. The way you _are_ there for me. I want you to be able to talk to me like you did when you decided not to take Beth back and when you told me about Yale and when you… Well, I can't think of any other examples right now, but I want to be friends again, Quinn. I mean, I had your trust, or some of it at least, before and I've taken care of you, I'm _taking_ care of you and I guess I just feel like if you really aren't angry with me, then you should be able to tell me...how do you feel?"

Rachel waited, gnawing her bottom lip while Quinn breathed beneath her arms, her chest pushing them up and down, up and down - and the smell of Quinn had never been so strong or so sweet.

But then she spoke. "I feel...wet."

Rachel sighed and dropped her arms away, ready to scrub Quinn the rest of the way down and be finished with it, but then Quinn grabbed her wrist and held her fast, her mouth held in that almost-smile that never quite made it anymore.

"I'm kidding," she soothed.

Rachel frowned back at her. "And I'm serious."

Quinn sobered in return and pulled at Rachel's wrist, until she was leaning closer again. "I feel trust. I trust you." She was scanning Rachel's face, golden hazel darting all over - from her eyes to her nose to her cheeks to her eyebrows - "And I need you in this...whatever it is."

Rachel pulled her bottom lip under, wetting it self-consciously. Her pulse was hammering again and she was floating so high and she had seen the face of an angel, of a goddess, and Quinn's was it. But then she let go of Rachel's wrist and looked away.

"Now you're all wet and I think I'm pretty well clean by now, so you go change and I'll try on some of those clothes after I dry off, okay?"

More than anything at the moment, Rachel wanted to say she didn't care, that she wanted to stay here with Quinn anyway - partly because it was true, and partly because she feared it would happen again. That the moment they were apart for too long, Quinn would go blank again and she couldn't stand to see it. But Quinn seemed adamant, plucking the fabric of her shirt to peel it away from her skin and peering expectantly at her until Rachel reluctantly muttered 'okay' and headed back into the bedroom for a fresh shirt and pajama pants, waiting until Quinn called that she was ready for the first outfit to try on. They only got through three of them, since most had buttons or zippers that Quinn couldn't quite work yet, and so Rachel had to help her out, which, of course, Quinn didn't particularly like. So once they were certain that the sizes were correct, she suggested just getting into pajamas for the night, which she could handle on her own, and then Rachel changed her bandages again.

Quinn's hands were in no worse shape than the night before, once Rachel got down to them, but she wouldn't have known from the amount of blood. It had almost penetrated the fourth layer this time, and as tempted as she was to lecture, or to ask what on earth she'd been doing, she knew all too well that Quinn would only respond with 'gardening' and that would be that. And as much as Rachel wished she could find a way to keep Quinn from going and destroying her hands every day, she knew it would be impossible. Quinn could be as stubborn as she was - even more so - and Rachel couldn't in good conscience deny her the only link she had to her mother at the moment, or the only routine she had. So until she could figure out a different way for Quinn to achieve both of those things, Rachel would just have to keep changing the bandages as they came.

By the time Quinn was rebound, Rachel's father had come up to say good night again and she was ready to crash. She had recharged quite a bit last night, but after the emotional roller coaster she'd been on throughout the day, she was ready to just curl up and rest - but Quinn seemed to have other ideas. When Rachel headed for the bed, she went for the laptop, and Rachel was quick to snatch her wrist.

"What are you doing?"

Quinn seemed nonplussed, gesturing with her free hand toward the laptop. "I had something to look up…"

"Oh." Rachel released her wrist. "Did you have an idea about your coming back, or - "

She was shaking her head. "No. Something else."

Rachel pursed her lips and reached for the wrist again. "Then it can wait. You haven't slept since you've been back and you look like you're about to fall over."

"I feel fine." She shrugged, resisting Rachel's pull.

"Of course you do, but _I_ won't feel fine if I know you haven't at least rested." She stepped a bit closer, trying for her best weapon - her pouty lip. "Please? Just lay with me, you don't have to sleep. Please?"

It took a few moments longer than it did with most people, and a few moments shorter than the people who'd been dealing with it the longest - her fathers - but Quinn finally sighed and nodded, and Rachel beamed up at her all the way back to the bed and under the covers. She snuggled up to Quinn's side again to be sure she wouldn't be able to sneak off to the laptop as soon as she drifted off, hugging around her slim waist and squeezing until she felt Quinn's arms looping around her shoulders.

"You are a huggy little thing, aren't you?" Quinn drawled, adjusting beneath Rachel a bit.

She smiled against her chest. "I'm a bit of a clinger, sorry. I just can't help it; when I care about someone, I have to show them. And by show them, I mean touch them."

Quinn snuffed - the closest to a laugh she came these past couple days - and her hand petted down Rachel's hair. "It's okay."

They laid in silence for a few more moments, soaking it in, until Rachel reached back to flip off the lights. She settled back where she was as quickly as possible, tugging the blankets up over her shoulders and snuggling Quinn's grey shirt. Quinn's fingers picked up the thread of her hair again a moment later, breathing steady. Her heart thudded just as evenly beneath Rachel's ear, strong, reassuring beats.

"Quinn?"

She breathed out in a whoosh. "What?"

"How do you feel right now?" Rachel curled the fabric of her shirt, gnawing her lip.

Quinn was silent for a few beats; Rachel counted them. "Peaceful."

She smiled, squeezed Quinn closer, and closed her eyes.

#

Quinn didn't sleep. She still couldn't even think of closing her eyes for so long without a stripe of fear traveling up her spine. So she rested, as per Rachel's request, petting her hair and watching her dream and breathe in puffs and even, on occasion, smile. And it was good advice - again. As the night went on, Quinn's hands felt better and better, not so pained from her earlier acrobatics, and being so near to Rachel, holding her and caressing her - she was perfectly honest when she told Rachel she felt peaceful.

At least, at that moment, she did. Earlier, things hadn't been so simple, when Rachel was offering to _bathe_ her, to clean her. Quinn was, of course, consciously aware that Rachel had done so before, that the night she brought her home Rachel had helped her strip down and scrubbed her entire body. But things had still been so fuzzy then; Quinn hadn't had the awareness she did now, not only the much improved eyesight, but the knowledge that this was Rachel, next to her while she was nude, and bathing her. But she couldn't exactly say no - for one thing, she wanted to be clean very badly. Never again did she want to spit dirt from her mouth or leave a black ring around a tub. And for another, Rachel had done it before. There was no reason Quinn could think of for why she couldn't do it again, other than the fact that if it had gone on much longer, Quinn would've dragged Rachel into the water with her and had her way.

Because Quinn was feeling again, being around Rachel. It had taken longer this time, to put the dog out of her mind and to fully absorb Rachel's presence, but once the feelings had taken hold, they were stronger than ever. She tried to put them out of her mind once Rachel was about to head to bed, so she could focus on finding out if something like the dog could exist even in the unnatural world - but Rachel had had other plans, and Quinn was a slave to her love. Now, however, lying there with Rachel sleeping, Quinn could think.

It couldn't have been a hallucination. Could it? The dog _saying something_ might've been. Probably was. An auditory hallucination. But the rest… Could it have been? Quinn didn't relish the idea of going insane, but it was possible. And it could've been sleep deprivation, anyway. But if it wasn't…

Quinn knew of only one source that had a black dog appear - Harry Potter. It had been taken as a sign of death, The Grim, and in the end turned out to be a regular black dog. Well, more or less. Regular if an Animagus of a human wizard counted. This was certainly _not_ a regular black dog, Animagus or otherwise. If these things existed, could it be a Grim? A portent of death. But of which death? A symbol that she was dead, or that she was going to die again?

"Morning," Rachel grumbled against her chest, arms squeezing around her waist tightly for a moment before the brunette settled again.

Quinn tucked a few now loosened strands of hair behind her ear. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

She peeked - Rachel was beaming now. "Mmm, wonderfully! How did you rest?"

She couldn't help but snuff, amusement tickling at her again. "Fine."

Finally, Rachel peered up at her with those big brown eyes. "Are you ready to go to Cleveland today?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Good. We'd better start getting ready then!" And then she was off, racing out of bed toward her closet with lightning speed, leaving Quinn's side cold. "It's almost a three hour drive up there, depending on traffic and weather, and we don't know how long it'll take once we're there, it might be closed or the owner or cashier or manager might not know anything, we might have to look through a ton of books before we find anything that way, or end up going to _another_ store and then getting through Cleveland's traffic is no ball, either. Maybe we should have set an alarm. Oh, well, too late now, we'll just have to make the most of the time we have." And then she disappeared into the bathroom.

Quinn breathed out, feeling her mouth trying to smile again as she slid out from under the covers and made up the bed first and foremost before she picked out the sleeveless denim blue dress Rachel had gotten her along with the tennis shoes. She managed to do up the laces and thought she might try to get through some of the buttons - and instead did all of them, with not one twinge of pain. Either the rest had done more good than she'd even guessed, or the painkillers were longer lasting these days. Once Rachel came trotting out in her black dress with pink flowers, Quinn took her place in the bathroom to freshen up, and while she was doing that, Rachel scoped out the rest of the house to see if her fathers had gone anywhere yet. The coast was clear, so Rachel had her breakfast while Quinn looked through the newspaper, for lack of anything better to do - and then they went out to the car, and Quinn froze.

Rachel was at the driver's side before she glanced back and noticed Quinn standing there, stock still, and she rushed back immediately - but Quinn couldn't move one step closer, knowing that next she would be getting into that car, because each time she imagined it, the following image was one of pain, of dying and her body trembled, even spasmed in reaction. Rachel was squeezing her hand, petting her hair.

"It's okay," she cooed. "Take as long as you need, okay?"

A horn went off somewhere in the distance - Quinn jumped backward, and Rachel was quick to hug her.

"It's okay, it's okay."

Quinn breathed in, out, grabbed onto Rachel, in, out, stared at the car, in, out - CRASH CRUNCH SMASH - flying, whistling - SNAP.

"I can't. I can't." Quinn backed up again, shaking her head, but Rachel held fast to her.

"It's okay, Quinn, it's okay. You don't have to, it's okay. I'll go - okay? I'll find out what we need to find out, you just stay here, okay?" Rachel was petting her face, her hair, and ushering her back into the house. "I'll go, don't worry." Quinn's bottom hit a cushion, and Rachel disappeared for a few moments - she thought her heart would explode, but then she was back with a glass of water, kneeling in front of her, caressing her cheek. "Breathe, take a drink. I'll go - once you're okay, I'll go. I'll be your eyes." She smiled.

And Quinn breathed.

#

It was difficult to leave Quinn after that, but one of them had to go, they had to keep taking steps forward so that the rest of their friends and Quinn's family could finally know. It had only been three nights, but it was too much. Too long for them not to know she was alive and okay. For the most part, that is, outside of the hands and the occasional lack of emotion and the fear of cars. Rachel had never seen Quinn so pale, which was saying something, and she couldn't blame her, but oh. How she wished she could take that fear away. Take all of Quinn's fear and pain away.

But all Rachel could do for that right now was to go to this magic shop in Cleveland and see if there were any answers there. It had been a long drive, trying not to think of where she'd left Quinn lying in bed and how she was probably out gardening again or something instead of resting, but once she had to focus on directions to the shop, it was easier. The One Stop Witch Shop was on a strip of other local stores, though they were far less, well, odd. It sat between a custom t-shirt shop and a used bookstore, the former of which was quite easy to find with its neon green building and all the t-shirt slogans tacked on in the windows, so when she saw that and the open space out in front of it, she was quick to grab it and then head up to the shop.

The window in which it read One Stop Witch Shop mostly hid the inside of the store with strings of beads, but Rachel spied quite a few rows of shelves between them, with the cashier's counter in the back. Pulling a breath, she stepped in and a bell rang above her head - a man appeared almost instantly behind the counter.

"Good mornink!" he called, and his accent was so put-upon Rachel fought not to cringe - at it or the assortment of oddities in the shop.

There was a table in front of her with an actual _pig fetus_ in a jar, and then something else that looked like eyeballs, and a crab or a lobster or something in yet another jar. There were actual _skulls_ and Rachel saw at least one _hand_ sitting on some shelves, too, and there were some very suspect liquids lining a few walls. Most of the rest of it looked relatively harmless, though. There were beads, small pouches, some strange amulets, a gong, for some odd reason. Other shelves or stands had candles of varying colors on them, crystal balls were gathered in a protective case near the cash register, and there were rows and rows of old leather-bound books.

The man himself was tall and mustached, a friendly twinkle in his blue eyes as he waved her closer to the back, and she reluctantly started his way.

"Vhat can I do for you, young lady? Pair-haps a love potion, for zee man who gets away? Or a voodoo doll for zat unfaithful - "

Rachel couldn't stand it anymore. "Actually...I was hoping to talk to someone who knows about...well, the supernatural?" He looked confused. "See, this friend of mine sort of...camebackfromthedead."

"Oh!" Suddenly, the accent was gone. "First timer, huh?"

She blinked rapidly. "I-I guess so?"

"I'm sorry for the little charade; most of my customers are just tourists and heartbroken teenagers looking for a quick fix with the exotic," he chuckled. "But, uh, you've been introduced to the underbelly of the real world, huh? It can be a nasty shock - but you're coming for help, must be doing okay with it." He smiled broadly at her, his mustache touching his nose.

Rachel wondered if this was what it felt like to listen to one of her own rambles, but smiled quickly anyway. "I'm trying. So it's actually a real...well, world?"

"Oh, yeah. Got our own shops and book clubs and everything. Can you excuse me for a moment? Hey, Mikey! Those are salamander eyes, and if I remember correctly, your grandma is a newt supremacist - let me get you some from the back. How many does she want?"

Rachel froze when a familiar voice answered.

"Six this time. Thanks, Mr. Gibson."

"Excuse me."

Rachel wasn't listening, and the mustached man, Mr. Gibson, disappeared into the back room. She turned slowly - and there he was. Mike Chang, holding a shopping basket filled to the brim with strange-looking jars and pouches in one hand and a crumpled list in the other.

"Mike?"

Finally, he looked at her - and grinned. "Rachel! What are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." She met him halfway, by a row of books, and folded her arms expectantly up at him, eyeing the basket of weird goodies. "Is there something you've neglected to tell us all?"

Mike chuckled. "Ah, don't worry, I don't believe in this stuff - it's for my grandma, she's a practicing Wiccan." He shrugged his shoulders, as if this was the most ordinary thing in the world, and Rachel gawked.

"She is?"

"Yeah, well, 'practicing' as in, she thinks she can do magic, but it's harmless stuff, as long as it makes her happy."

An idea was forming in Rachel's mind, behind the surprise of seeing someone she knew here, of seeing _Mike Chang_ here, buying witch groceries. Or rather, Wiccan groceries, apparently. Because she and Quinn needed someone local, someone who _knew_ about this stuff.

"Does she live in Lima, too?"

Mike's brow furrowed. "Like fifteen minutes outside town, but yeah…"

Rachel tried not to bounce, leaning heavily on her heels. "Do you think she would agree to meet with me? Like, could you ask her and set up a time and you can just text me whenever she wants, I will be there - you have my number, right? I just have some questions about...witchcraft and some stuff like that. Do you think you could do that for me? I would owe you so, so much."

When she stopped, Mike just stared, and then nodded. "I mean, sure. I think she'd love to have someone to talk about it with, but what do you - "

"Thank you!" Rachel popped up on her tiptoes to give him the biggest hug she could manage when he was so tall and she was so small - and then she was racing out the door to run home and give Quinn the good news: they actually _knew someone_ who was plugged into this strange world they were just beginning to dip into.

#

It didn't take long for Quinn to end up getting out of bed. She didn't like just laying there, not without Rachel beside her. She felt like a lump. Useless. And she needed to find out about this dog, whether it could be real or not - what it could be. Rachel's laptop, as it turned out, had a password and though she was sure it was something like Mrs. Hudson or maybe even Mrs. Evans, she preferred not to waste precious time guessing. Instead, she grabbed the key Rachel had given her and the sunglasses and walked to the public library, which, as always, was fairly empty save for a few college students down from OSU, some actual avid readers, and the librarian, who sat at the front desk with her nose in a Danielle Steele book.

Quinn breezed past her for a computer to try out what nonfiction could come up with for 'large black dog.' Most of the results were dog breed books, either general or on Newfoundlands, Labrador Retrievers, Rottweilers, Dobermans, and a few more obscure breeds like Mudis. However, there were two that had promising titles, and she immediately went to pull them off the shelf. Both were bestiaries, of sorts, lists of mythological creatures, and one had a brief mention of a Grim, reading, "Ghostly image of a large dog portending the viewer's death." Fortunately it was the second one where Quinn got lucky - there was an entire chapter on black dogs in fantasy.

The rest of her day was spent there in the library, reading through books with small mentions of black dogs in myth, only nothing seemed right. She'd even searched on the internet for a few names of creatures she had found, though she tended to trust the books more than the websites, but nothing. Whist Hounds were headless - her dog had definitely had a head, a large one, which was otherwise shaped like a German Shepherd or a collie. Hellhounds supposedly had red eyes and left fire and brimstone in their path, but her dog had had the soulful brown eyes of any other dog, except much bigger. Freybugs only went after drunken people. Black Shucks, once again, had red or green eyes.

It was all futile. The library didn't have that many books on this sort of thing in the first place, and Quinn was certain she had exhausted every single one by the time she'd left. They didn't even have Bulfinch's Mythology - and she only wished she could get back into her room to get it herself. But, at the very least, she knew that giant, cow-sized black dogs were a part of the supernatural, so that if all of this was real, the dog could be, too.

Which was extra fortunate, because when Quinn started for home shortly after dark, she felt the prickling again. And this time, she ran again.

But she was tired. Sleep deprived after three nights, going on four now, of nothing but wakefulness and thinking - it caught onto her leg.

She felt the claws strike into her thigh and rip through the skin and then out, off of her, and she kept running, blood running down her leg, all the way home.

It was definitely, definitely real.


End file.
